


False Flags Redux

by greekowl87



Series: False Flags [2]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Civil War AU, F/M, Flashbacks, MSR, Other, Past Lives, historic AU, msr fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-05-06
Packaged: 2019-02-23 10:48:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 80,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greekowl87/pseuds/greekowl87
Summary: A year later, after catching a killer, Mulder and Scully must catch the escaped murderer again who also claims to have been Scully's husband in a past life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Let me start by stating this work was a grand experiment for me. I have never written a mystery or case file before, this the longest thing I have written and completed (besides a 22-page graduate research paper on William Shakespeare), and for the most part, I have this almost completed before I started posting it. This started its life as a [drabble](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12048756) written for @txf-prompt-box back in early September. It kept growing and I created a Frankenstein fic. I hold this little creation very close to my heart and I hope you all enjoy it as I have enjoyed writing it.
> 
> Lastly, a massive, million thanks to @mulders-boyish-enthousiasm and @scully-loves-ruthie on Tumblr for the constant hand-holding, criticism, feedback, and overall being the awesome of the most awesome people and helping me get through this. Seriously, these two deserve a medal.
> 
> Timeline: Season 6. Making me pick episodes? Before ‘How the Ghost Stole Christmas.’ Before they got the X-Files back and before ‘Tithonaeous’. Use your headcanon imagination.

It was taken from me. Plain and simple. This is a story of revenge. Plain and simple. 

You see, I remember everything. Sure, they don’t but I do. They don’t matter. I remember how my heart was ripped out. He stole it and she ripped it out. Stamped it on the ground. Burned it. Neither party is innocent. Both are guilty. I am the judge, jury, and executor. And the kicker? I remember everything. And I am willing to kill to get it back.

The betrayal. The heartbreak. I want revenge. I have been wanting revenge for 135 years. I had it once. I will have it again.

I did not realize how much I wanted it until I saw her again.

I did not realize why I was doing it to begin with. I just felt this need…this anger. I was always angry. I always wanted to lash out. That’s how it started. One girl here. It felt good. Another random guy there. Even better. I had no agenda. Another random person there. I just needed to do it. I did not discriminate or plan. I just did it to do it. Like a smoker smokes a cigarette to smoke. I killed just to kill. I got no physical satisfaction than knowing I did it.

But then they caught me. I saw her.

And then, I remembered everything.

… .

Federal Building  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 12, 1998

It was cold. Not bitterly cold but enough to send a chill to your bone. The sky was overcast; so grey it looked heavy and ready to release some sort of precipitation, and the cold was always snapping, freezing, ready to make any rain turn to snow. The weird thing is that it would never snow. Norfolk, Virginia, was a conundrum. A city steeped in history but unsure where to go between the historic district and the hodge-podge of Victorian, Art Deco, and modern architecture. The weather seemed to fit right in.

On the corner of Charlotte Street and Brambleton Avenue, a four-story building dominated. It was built with a nod to the art deco style, with its boxy shape, antiqued lamps, and boxy fanned out styles. The Walter E. Hoffman courthouse appeared just as much out of place as the rest of the buildings in the city.

Outside art deco courthouse, two FBI agents huddled near each other to try and escape the biting cold. Agent Dana Scully looked pointedly at the sign marked ‘U.S. Marshal Parking Only’ in bright right and white letters and then towards their rental 1997 Chevy Impala. “Mulder,” she mused, “are you sure we can park there?”

Special Agent Fox Mulder blew into his gloved hands and gazed at the parking sign ominously. “We’re FBI. They’re U.S. Marshals,” he shrugged. “We’re both federal agents in law enforcement. What’s the difference?”

Scully licked her chapped lips, choosing not to argue the point. “Can we at least get out of the cold? I want to get this over with.”

“What?” her partner teased. “Looking forward to more background checks?”

“No. And no. I hate the cold. And Kersh’s background cheeks. I just want to get home,” she shivered. “Something about the cold makes me want to become a hermit.”

Mulder rubbed her arms slightly trying to generate heat. “I don’t blame you,” he shrugged. “The Vineyard is way worse. At least it decides if it wants to snow or not.”

“Shut up about the snow. I hate the snow. You know that.”

“You could always move to Miami.” She gave him a withering glance and he smiled lightly. “Then let’s get out of this cold. If you behave, I’ll buy you a lollipop after all this.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

Even through the thick layers of her suit and heavy wool coat, the pressure of his touched seared itself into her lower back right above her ouroboros tattoo. She straightened her back unconsciously, her back cracking, and stretched her neck. “I wish we could have stayed at the hotel across the street,” she mumbled, nodding to the large 12 story v-shaped hotel across the street. “Looks a lot nicer than where we’re staying at. And closer.”

“Hey, Kersh’s dollars at least gets us a step up from a motel. We’re staying by the airport.”

“There’s nothing by the airport.”

Mulder frowned and teased her. “Well, there’s the beach. The hotel is supposed to be really nice.”

“Virginia Beach,” she specified, “which we aren’t exactly on the oceanfront, are we?”

He gestured eastwards. “The river?”

“Mulder, the ocean and the river are not the same things.” She shook her head slightly in an effort be rid of the chill the creeping into her bone. “Regardless, can we get out of this cold? I really don’t understand why even drove down here, Mulder. We just have to testify at a sentencing hearing.” She held up a finger for dramatic pause. “Sentencing hearing.”

“Well, maybe I don’t want us sitting behind the desk doing background checks?”

She arched an eyebrow and shook her head. “How is that a step up? Okay, okay,” she sighed. “But can we at least get out of this cold? I’m freezing.”

Mulder ushered her into the courthouse through the main entrance on Monticello Avenue. They shed their coats, showed their badges, went through the security checkpoint, took the required elevator, and walked the required amount of steps to courtroom B. They slid in among the shuffling of journalists, cops, lawyers, and other courtroom witnesses. Scully saw the judge enter unceremoniously from the left as the bailiff rose and called for order.

She watched from afar as the male judge looked briefly over the day’s docket and then towards the defendant, the serial killer her and Mulder had caught the year previously

“Well,” the judge sighed, opening. “This should be fairly straightforward. Francis Buckley, rise please.”

The defense lawyer jumped up. “Aren’t you going to hear testimony in defense of my client?”

“Sir,” the judge answered, “I see no one jumping to defend your client for brutally murdering three people. The only people here to testify are the two FBI agents that caught him and I sincerely doubt that will cast any light on your client’s…good grace and he has already been convicted by a court of three murders. How much longer do you want me to drag this through the mud?” The lawyer’s mouth flapped uselessly and the judge looked pointedly at him. “Rise, Mr. Buckley.”

Scully watched as a large man in his mid-thirties rose, dressed in the classic orange jail jumpsuit and chained. She felt something in the air shift and glanced towards Mulder to see if he noticed. The defendant, Francis Buckley, turned to look over his shoulder slightly. He grinned when his brown eyes zeroed in on her. She felt cold, like icicles dropping down her back in sharp pain. She physically jumped and felt Mulder’s hand instantly squeeze her knee in reassurance. She glanced at her partner as his hazel eyes gazed at her quizzically. She nodded quickly before regaining her composure. Buckley smiled, even more, when he noticed Mulder before turning back to the judge.

It was a whirlwind. Before she even knew it, Mulder was gently ushering her out the door with his familiar hand on the small of her back. She could hear him talking. Something about lunch.

“Scully,” he called gently, “are you even listening to me?”

She sucked in a quick breath and blinked as if coming out of a revere. “Yeah.” She blinked a few more times to clear her eyes. “Yeah. Sorry about that, Mulder. Must have of dazed off there for a second.”

He studied her for a moment and nodded. “Well, we don’t have to be back in Washington until tomorrow. You want to play hooky this afternoon in the wonderful city of Norfolk, Virginia? The Chrysler Museum is nearby.”

She nodded again, more quickly than her body would let her. She was eager for the distraction to take her focus away from the building uneasiness that was in the back of her mind.

… .

I saw her today. I was hoping to see her today. And he was there too. This will be so easy.

… .

 

Norfolk, Virginia  
February 1, 1862

The young lieutenant pulled his gray kepi down over his ears and buried his face into his own greatcoat bemoaning the cold. Even in the beginning of February, it was bitingly cold. The snow crunched under the wagon’s wheels as it drove slowly among Freemason street. He shifted uncomfortably as he surveyed on what would be his new home for an undetermined amount of time.

Polished and affluent homes combed the streets on either side of him. He felt uneasy being out and about here. He much preferred to be with the other marines at the barracks at the naval yard where they awaited the completion of the navy’s newest ironclad, CSS Virginia, previously known as the USS Merrimac.

Honestly, he never knew why God had intended him to be the butt of some cruel, universal joke. He was an army man, a graduate of Virginia Military Institute. Hell, he was supposed to be a part of blossoming community of military intelligence. But no. He was stuck on a boat and surrounded by navy men. He got seasick easily too.

God, how he had wished his mother had not intervened with his career.

As the carriage trotted down the cobbled road, he spied an old man, wearing the insignia of a navy captain, and a woman, who was much too young to be his wife, wearing a pale green dress and a black overcoat, holding the captain’s arm weakly as they stood at the doorway of one of the polished homes. She looked bored. She glanced at her husband as he talked fondly to a man standing inside and let her eyes wander from place to place on the street.

Somehow, they caught each other’s gazes.

The first thing that he noticed was her blue eyes. Then the small smattering of freckles across her face. And her red hair peeking out beneath the bonnet. He felt warm to his soul like he finally belonged somewhere after searching a lifetime. She seemed just as taken with him and their gazes lingered as his carriage continued on its way and until she faded from sight.

… .

Holiday Inn by the Airport  
Norfolk,Virginia  
December 13, 1998

3:08 AM. 

Scully rubbed her face in a weak effort to erase the fatigue that she had. Her eyes were tired. Her body felt heavy. Everything just felt off. It had ever since that morning in the courtroom. She lay beneath the white, artificial sheets and quilt (only a few steps up from creepy, crappy by the hour motel sheets) and absently clicked the television remote, the changing the flickering screen repeatedly. She heard a quick knock on the door joining her and Mulder’s rooms. He opened it slightly and gave a weak smile. “I thought I heard the TV,” he said softly.

She sighed and cast the remote aside. Sitting up in bed taller, she turned on the nightstand lamp. “No,” she admitted with a shrug. “I tossed and turned a bit. There’s nothing on TV.”

“There never is. Want some company?”

“Do you ever sleep, Mulder?” she teased, patting the bed beside her.

“Once in awhile.”

Her partner shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to examine Scully. “You look…distracted. You okay, Scully?” She shrugged, rolling her neck as she did, hearing a distinct pop. “Oh, I heard that one. Turn around.”

“Mulder,” she admonished. “I’m fine.”

“Just…turn around, Scully,” he instructed with a small smile.

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips.

She loved his rare shoulder massages. Although she would tell him repeatedly she was okay, he would always ignore her. It was all professionally platonic, of course. Scully turned slightly and rolled her shoulder. “You don’t have to.”

“I know,” he said. He squeezed her shoulders tentatively. God, she was tense. He felt the knotted muscles beneath her silken green pajama set. “I’ve been worried since this morning.”

“How so?” she grunted, instantly straightening her spine, feeling the pressure of Mulder’s thumbs.

“I could say you’re distracted but that is just stating the obvious. Even at the museum today this afternoon, you were distant. Every since Buckley noticed you this morning,” he said thoughtfully. “You weren’t like that during the case.”

“I don’t know,” she confessed absently, sitting up straighter as his hands centered in on her spine. Her back cracked more. “Did you see the way he looked at us? At me?”

“Hm. What about it?”

“I don’t know, Mulder,” she whispered. “He smiled at me. Like, just me. Mulder, it creeped me out.”

He paused. “How so, Scully?”

She shook her hand, unconsciously rubbing her left arm. “Not that bad. I’m fine,” she answered quickly. She felt vulnerable. He already knew where his mind was going towards. “Not Pfaster or the abduction bad. It was probably nothing.”

“Then what?”

She paused, wishing he could hug her in this moment of vulnerability, but of course, she would never admit that out loud. “I didn’t feel like myself,” she replied after a long moment. “Like I was me, and someone else, but at the same time. I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing my mind.”

“Out of place, out of time?”

“Something like that.”

Scully shook her head and her entire body followed, shrugging out of Mulder’s grasp. He hesitated before gently grasping her hand that had been repeatedly trying to console herself. “Easy, Scully. I gotcha.”

She closed her eyes and tried to center herself. “What was it like?” she asked after a long moment. “In Tennessee?”

He was silent, his hand instinctively seeking out the small of her back, his place. He drew in a deep breath. “How else would you explain it?”

“You’ll think I’m crazy.”

“Try me.”

Scully hugged herself tightly and faced him. Mulder wished that he could just take her in his arms and make all right with the world but simply settled for squeezing her hand again. “I had a strange dream tonight,” she started reluctantly. She pointed towards the floor loosely. “Here. In Norfolk.” She closed her eyes again. “Snow. Cold. Like this morning It needed to snow but hadn’t recently.”

“How do you know it was here?”

Her right hand flung wildly in a circle. “I just…know.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself. “It wasn’t this time–older. Mulder, I don’t know.” She buried her face in her hands. “This is stupid. Just ignore it.”

He grasped her other hand tightly. “Scully, come on. Stop thinking.”

Her head was spinning. She remembered the gaze from the dream. His gaze. She could not remember his face but she could feel his staring. “Mulder,” she murmured, squeezing his hands. “I think I need a vacation.”

He let out a hoarse laugh. “We both do.”

She brought her knees close, crossing them under her. “Mulder, I’ve never felt like this before. I have never felt so out of time and out of space. This isn’t like the abduction. This isn’t missing time. I feel like I’m experiencing something I forgot long ago. It scares me.”

He pushed a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “I know,” he whispered. Was she experiencing a past life? Who knew. But he was curious. “If you want to talk…”

She shrugged noncommittally as his cell phone rang. She raised an eyebrow as he mouthed ‘Sorry.’ “Mulder,” he answered crisply.

While he had freed one hand to answer his cell, his other hand still clasped hers. He was quiet as he finished the call and put it away. There was trouble in his eyes. “That was the sheriff. Buckley mentioned he wanted to talk to Starbuck.” He felt her stiffen. “Then he mentioned your name.”

“Do you think,” she paused. “This could be like Boggs?”

He never let go of her hand. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He looked down at the bed, surprised that she was even entertaining such ideas. “Good thing we have nowhere to be, right?”


	2. Chapter 2

IHOP  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 13, 1998

 

In a small plastic booth wrought with fake morning cheer and pancake induce atmosphere, Mulder watched Scully from across the table absently push her scrambled eggs around her plate, ignoring the short stack of pancakes she had her heart set on, as he sipped his coffee. She rested cheek on one propped up hand while she left fiddling her eggs in favor of picking at the mixed fruit. “You have to eat something besides the fruit. We’re not going to the jail with you acting like this,” he said softly, choosing his tone carefully.

Scully arched an eyebrow and then rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Acting like what? You’re worse than my mother,” she grumbled, checking her watch. “It’s only 6:23. We could just go there now.”

“We will be there at nine a.m. promptly,” he scolded softly. “More than enough time for you to eat something and for us to talk. We did not have to leave the hotel so quickly, by the way, this morning. I was looking forward to a real intercontinental breakfast, Scully. Were you trying to pull a fast one on me?”

“I really wanted pancakes instead of waffles,” she shrugged. “What are you now? My psychologist?” She looked up, her blue eyes sparkled teasingly although her tone suggested otherwise.

He gave a small smile. “Well, I do love delving into your mind over breakfast. Shows you that I am more than a one night stand. And remember, Scully, smart is sexy. Besides, tit for tat. You patch up the bullet wounds you give me, I fix any recurring dreams about you giving a speech in your underwear.”

“You are more than that,” she said softly. She dropped her fork in favor of sipping her own coffee. “You want me to talk about earlier this morning.” It was a statement rather than a question. “About yesterday.”

“That’s the plan,” he encouraged. “I know you don't like opening up about those sort of things, but I could try and help you, Scully.”

Scully nodded and took a moment to appreciate the easy camaraderie that they had. Things had been little rough with the appearance of Diana Fowley a few months ago, and not to mention the whole her-getting-an-alien-virus-and-Mulder-going-to-Antarctica-saving-her thing, but things had gotten easier again too, but things were still tense. Mulder and Scully made lousy dance partners; one step forward and two steps back. Their matching little desks next to each other in the bullpen almost recreated the private little bubble they had in the basement office as they performed menial tasks. Her and Mulder very rarely saw Fowley and Spender, which was perfectly fine with her.

“You asked me about Tennessee earlier,” he prompted. “About knowing how it was real or what was real.” She nodded after a moment. “I don’t. I cannot recall anything consciously. I don’t have memories or impressions. I mean, maybe a bit after the regression therapy, maybe. But not really. Maybe I was Biddle and you were my sergeant and Melissa was my wife. But I can’t consciously recall anything or remember anything. I have never had a dream about it if that is what you are asking. However, it is not unheard of people to dream about past lives or history. I mean, Norfolk is pretty eclectic in ways of history. Maybe we walked past something that triggered the dream.”

“Did you believe it though, Mulder?”

He licked his lips and sipped his coffee again, mulling his thoughts before he answered. “Then, perhaps. But now, no.” She let out a mock gasp. Mulder held up his hand dramatically, calling for silence. “I know, I know. The skeptic has influenced the believer. But she wasn't my wife. I can't explain how, Scully, but I just know.” He stared at her for a long moment, his hazel eyes taking her in like a drug. “There is someone else for me.”

Scully felt silly talking about this with him, even entertaining the notion. “I feel like I should know better, Mulder. I know there are other things that would have caused it like lack of sleep or maybe something on TV.”

“I’m not here making fun of you, am I?”

“Well, I feel like rare occasion I do talk about the idea of the unknown, our roles are reversed. You become the logical one and I become the spooky one.”

“See, we’re the perfect partners! Mr. and Mrs. Spooky!” Scully rolled her eyes with a smile and he picked a piece of hash brown off her plate and nodded towards the food. “Eat it before it gets cold.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You're not my mother. I thought you wanted me to talk.”

“You can do both, smartass. Now it's not often I have to spoon feed you, is it?”

Scully stuck out her tongue defiantly and Mulder just shrugged and ate the potato. She picked at the eggs slowly and began shaking her head and started to pick at her sodden syrup-laden pancakes. “I just...there was this neighborhood that looked like something out of Victorian times in the winter. And I was looking at someone. He had eyes like yours, Mulder. I remember his eyes.”

“Little ol’ me?” he tried to sound like a beauty queen. She gave a weak smile. “How can you be so certain they were mine?”

“I said like yours, I didn't say they were yours,” she corrected. They were his, a voice told her. But then again, maybe it wasn't his eyes? “I just remember gazing and the intensity of it, then I woke up.”

“Nothing else?”

She shook her head no. Mulder paused and stole another piece of potato from her plate. “Well,” he began after a long moment, “it could be nothing except your mind telling you that you’re in love with my eyes and it was just a dream.” She arched an eyebrow wordlessly. “Or there could be something to it.”

“You don’t think I’m crazy, do you, Mulder?”

He gave her a warm smile and shook his head. “Not at all, Scully. You are crazy for not finishing your food.” He picked up his own fork and began to help himself to her plate. “Well, waste not want not.”

She pushed her plate to the center of the table as they both began to eat the last of her breakfast. “Well, I get to pick lunch today. It's only fair.” He nodded in concession. “And we're doing what I want to do. We're not eating burgers.”

. . . .

Regional Jail  
Portsmouth, Virginia  
December 13, 1998

 

Mulder was unsureon whether to let Scully take the lead on this encounter. He remembered when they had caught Francis Buckley the year before. He and Scully had been called down to Norfolk, Virginia to investigate an odd murderer that had occurred at an old graveyard that the local newspapers teased about supernatural occurrences. That was enough for Mulder. But what they found was an ordinary, human killer. A very sick, deranged murderer but an ordinary murderer nonetheless. Between their tag-teaming, Mulder’s profile, and the findings of Scully’s autopsies, they were able to narrow in and capture Francis Buckley and find two more victims. He had thought Buckley was just your normal-run-of-the-mill murderer, nothing supernatural or paranormal about him.

But this morning, aside from the bizarre dream Scully confessed to him and her lack of sleep, she was on edge slightly. He knew she was flashing back to Boggs and that incident. As they walked through the parking lot and to the jail, he paused her mid-step by gently claiming her arm. “Scully, wait for a second,” he said softly.

“I can do this, Mulder,” she replied quickly.

“I’m not saying that,” he soothed. He stepped closer to her and entered her bubble. “I want to know how you want to go about this. Do you want me to take the lead, go in by yourself, or just me? We have to have a game plan here.”

She looked distantly at the jail and then back up to Mulder. She still felt unsettled, confused, much like she had yesterday morning in the courtroom. Scully knew better than to go at this alone and Mulder was offering her a hand instead of running off without her. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Take the lead,” she said softly after a moment. She looked up at him “But I want to be in there.”

He nodded after a moment. “You got it, Scully.” Unconsciously, she sought his hand briefly, squeezed it, and let it go. “Let’s go.”

. . . .

Francis Buckley licked his lips thoughtfully as he watched the two FBI agents enter. Buckley was a large, round man in his thirties with dead brown eyes and oily hair, looking like he had been found in a pickling barrel. She looked nervous as if she was unsure what to do with him. Her partner loomed over her, watching quietly, like a gargoyle. “Well, Agent Scully,” he clapped his chained hands together. “I was not expecting that you would come. Tell me, how did you sleep last night? Well, I hope.”

The tall one sat in front of him as the woman crossed her arms and leaned against the dull wall behind him. She remained quiet as Mulder spoke. “What do you want, Buckley?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Agent Mulder. I did not mean to leave you out of our little conversation.” He lounged back in the metal chair, placing his hands behind his head, despite the handcuffs. He nodded to Scully. “I wanted to see Starbuck, not you.” He gazed past Scully and tapped his head. “I have friends, Dana. Someone told me your dad used to call you that. Best way to get your attention.”

She resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. He kept staring at her and it crawled under her skin. Mulder cleared his throat sharply and smiled insincerely. “Sorry. Must be the weather. What do you want?”

“You were always protecting her,” he sighed. “I want to talk to her. Why are you avoiding me, Dana?”

Anger flashed in his eyes as he resisted lashing out across the table. The gaze Buckley gave Scully made his skin crawl; it reminded him of Pfaster and every other low life that they had come across. But there was something more to that gaze, possessive almost like he was glancing at a piece of property. He lowered his gaze, never breaking it, and licked his lips like he was tasting something. Bastard.

“That’s enough!” Scully snapped.

Mulder turned his head quickly at the fury of her voice. It almost gave him whiplash. Her blue eyes blazed with an old fury, one he had never seen before.

“I. Don’t. Belong. To. You. I never did.” She seethed each word with a breath, her nostrils flared like an angry bull. “Got it? I never was yours.”

Mulder stood up quickly, spinning around. He placed a hand in warning on his partner's shoulder. She blinked as if coming out of a daze. She looked at Mulder and he saw fear briefly spark in her eyes before the cool, calm collected Agent Scully came back. “We’re done here, Mulder.”

“Guard!” Mulder called.

Scully gave him a quick nod before heading towards the door. Buckley grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t think that I have forgotten anything, Lieutenant. You took her from me the first time. Coward. I had my revenge once. What makes you think I won’t have it again?”

Mulder paused, glancing at Scully’s retreating back as he spun around to face Buckley. “You best back off,” Mulder threatened and then he smiled. “Oh wait, you’ll be stuck in here. Lucky you. I hope you enjoy life in prison.”

Mulder’s mild threat was considered light for the deep, fire-filled rage he felt burning in his body. Most of all, Scully's outburst stood But he left without another word to find his partner waiting just outside. “Everything okay?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he breathed, forcing himself to calm down. “That was a waste of time, wasn’t it?”

“Hm,” she nodded distractedly. She gazed back to the holding room, watching the guards take Buckley away with that shit eating grin on his face. “Out of sight, out of mind, Scully. We’re flying back, right? What time is our flight?”

Mulder was silent before saying, “Why don’t we drive back instead? We could take Route 17, it will be longer but a nicer ride. We don't have to deal with I-95 until outside of Fredericksburg.”

“And prolong dealing with Kersh?”

“We’re not expected back in the bullpen until tomorrow. We don’t have to go straight to the Hoover building. I can take you home first. What do you say, Scully? You could use the sleep.”

“You’re driving,” she said softly.

“Of course,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “We both know you can’t reach the pedals.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “Well at least I know I have a better sense of direction than you do.”

 

. . . .

She came. Dana actually came. Honestly, that whole Starbuck thing was a shot in the dark. I had a dream about some creepy little man telling about it. He looked like that actor Brad Dourif who was in that movie Dune. But anyways, it was a dream that told me to call Dana Starbuck. Complete shit luck. But she still came and I saw my wife. Oh, I saw my wife come through tonight.

She has to be remembering. I saw the look in her eyes. She used to get that faraway look in the other time like she did not belong. Back then. But she belongs to me, in that life and this life. But then there is him. Arrogant bastard. Figures he come back in this life too. I recognized that old fire in the Lieutenant’s eyes. I remember that defiance and protectiveness when he disobeyed me.

. . . .

Norfolk, Virginia  
February 4, 1862

 

She sat by the window, looking longingly at the snow-covered streets, her hand rubbing the cover of the copy of Moby Dick that her father gave her right before her marriage. She looked at it fondly before tucking it away in a small bag beneath the floorboards. Also in that bag rested money, papers, a couple of pictures, and a revolver. She cinched the bag shut and replaced the floorboards and recovered it with the carpet.

Her husband would be home soon. The last thing she needed was to be caught. She sighed, wondering how she was supposed to go about this absurd mission.

“Mrs. Buchanan,” a maid asked softly, “a messenger just arrived from the shipyards. The Captain will not be joining you for dinner tonight. Shall I prepare something for you?”

“I’m quite fine, Charlotte,” she smiled weakly. “I’ll make myself a small plate and have some wine.”

“Ma’am, with all due respect,” the maid began tentatively, “the Captain truly insists that we do work like that. He says it isn’t the place of a captain’s wife to be doing hard labor.”

“It’s just making a small plate of food,” the wife sighed. “Charlotte, go to bed, go read yourself a book. I’m quite content right now.”

She nodded and gave a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan. Good night.”

Mrs. Buchanan gave a warm smiled and nodded. “Good night.”

Alone with her thoughts, she turned her attention back outside. Dana Katherine Buchanan was supposed to be a Navy Captain’s Wife. Just like her mother had been. What an empty title. But she was his second wife, not his first. Her husband, Captain Francis Buchanan of the Confederate States Navy. He had previously been, like many other military men of the Confederacy, a United States Naval Officer. She had married him before the war, in 1854 when she was twenty-four and he himself was fifty-four. He had been a friend and naval college of her father’s; they both had enlisted in the navy together in 1815 and at the tender age of 15. Her father could not think of a more perfect suitor for his youngest daughter when the opportunity presented itself for then Commander Buchanan to remarry.

That had been seven years ago and what did Dana have to show for it? Nothing. She was miserable. Domestic life did not suit her. Inwardly, ever since she was a child, she desired to do something more, to be intellectually stimulated and do something with her life. Something grand like medical school. She remembered the first time she read Florence Nightingale’s Cassandra shortly after her marriage. It sparked the idea to actually act on her desires.

Her husband found this notion ridiculous. The years passed and she read as much as she could to pass the dullness and bear the miserableness of her marriage. The Captain frowned on the fact that she still remained childless, but he was not lacking. He still had his nine other children from his previous marriage, all who were close to being grown and in boarding schools. They did not take to the idea of having a step-mother. Even then, Dana never gave the thought of motherhood much consideration either and secretly ensured that she would remain childless.

She smoothed the front of her dress and thought about the task at hand. A few months ago, she had been approached by her youngest brother, Charlie while her husband had been away visiting his children. She was surprised to see him; both of her brothers served in the Union Navy. But here he was, dressed as a civilian. She remembered his urgent tone, the seriousness of his face.

Spy for the union, he begged his sister. There is a knowledge that your husband is to be commander of the newest ironclad frigate. Get us information, Dana. Help end this war.

Dana herself still did not know why she did it. Maybe it was the sense of adventure, maybe it was the sense of greater justice, or maybe it just gave her purpose. But she was doing something with her life. But still, she needed a way in to uncover information before passing it to the Union.

 

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
December 13, 1998

 

Mulder gently shook Scully awake as she jumped slightly, startled out of her light sleep. “Hm.” She blinked lazily. “Are we already back in Washington?”

“Still got three hours but I thought we could grab a late lunch. The front desk person at the hotel spoke about this little restaurant right along the Yorktown River. Some awesome seafood from what I heard.”

“Hm. Yorktown,” she murmured. She licked her dry lips. “Didn't something happen here?”

“The Revolutionary War ended here in 1781 when Cornwallis surrendered to Washington. There is a small cave down ways called Cornwallis's cave. Supposedly Cornwallis hid there during the 1781 Yorktown siege and the Union Army used it for mutilations during the Civil War,” Mulder recited. He nodded outside the car towards the rear window. “Check out the view. And since we're not rushing back to work, there's a local graveyard we could check out.”

Scully's breath caught quickly as she viewed the York Riverfront and the Coleman bridge linking the two Virginia peninsulas. Something about the site lulled her into a state of happy contentment. Maybe it was because of the gorgeous riverfront view. “You're full of surprises, Mulder,” she commented softly.

“Only the best for you, Scully,” he remarked.

Mulder was concerned about Scully (when was he not?) since they came to Norfolk. She seemed caught in some sort of fog lately ever since the other day. He wanted to distract her and tried to get her to smile.

“I think,” she paused, glancing at him, for dramatic effect, “you're flirting me, Agent Mulder.”

“I may be, Agent Scully.” Of course, he was flirting with her. He loved and cared deeply her but he would never openly admit and ruin the relationship they already had. He was too much of a coward to pursue the matter and risk losing what they had already. “But I also know you too well.”

She gave a playful push against his arm as they got out of the car. Scully breathed deeply, feeling the wind, carrying a crispness that only could be felt near the shore. She already felt her spirits lifting. They walked up to the front of the small shack of a restaurant as he opened the door for her. They sat quietly at the bar and shared two happy hour beers and mulled over the menu.

“Look, Scully, they have frog legs on special! Deep fried. Everything is better than deep fried!”

She arched an elegant eyebrow and nodded. “Challenge accepted as an appetizer. Hm. Saws the chef caught it himself and kept them frozen for a special occasion. I'd this occasion is special. Fox Mulder buying me lunch!” Scully laughed. She glanced back to her own menu at hand, deciding on a small side salad and a side of scallops to put on her salad. “What are you getting?”

“The softshell crabs sound awfully tempting,” he answered, “as do the oysters. A Yankee boy like myself is allowed to indulge in these things. Why don't we just share? What were you thinking of getting?”

“A small salad and a side order of scallops.”

“Let's get that, some oysters, and...” he eyed the menu, “collards and green beans. Gotta try that southern cuisine.”

“You've already asked me to get china patterns and marrying you,” she mused, closing the menu, “we better slow down before we get ahead of ourselves.”

He smiled slightly and ordered their food. “So,” he began, resting his head in his hand, “you okay, Scully?”

She pursed her lips, about to murmur I'm fine but hesitated. “I feel better now but I...” She struggled inwardly before giving in the urge to confess. “I had another dream.”

“About what?”

She eyed the beer bottle and sipped it tentatively. “I'm me, but I'm not,” she started cryptically. “I saw me, but not, and it was like...the 1800s. I was a spy. There was a war?”

“The Civil War?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. What other war could it be?” She played with a napkin. “I'm probably losing my mind.”

“Don't say that,” he said softly. “Scully, you know if you ever want to talk, I'm there for you.”

“You're three am calls prove it.”

“You could already feel the love,” he teased. “Even at the very beginning.”

The deep fried frog legs arrived. Mulder held up his fork in challenge. Scully smirked and held up her own as they dug in the two sets. “I feel like I am back in high school biology,” Mulder mused, trying to fork the frog leg.

Scully was already successful, eating her first piece. “It really does taste like chicken. Damn, this is good.” She was silent for a long moment. “Mulder. Thank you for all this.” She waved her hand uselessly. “Dealing with me.”

“Anytime, Scully.” He had successfully forked a piece of the frog leg and dipped in the house sauce. “Not bad.”

“I bet we can add this to our list of safe food,” she chuckled.

“Frog legs. Got it.”

They ate in easy silence. The bartender brought their odd assortment of food and they continued to pick at each others dishes. Mulder paid their tab and they left, leaving the car, to walk along the riverfront. Scully sighed slightly feeling a sense of relief. The silence was comforting as they enjoyed being in each other company. “You really did not have to do this, Mulder,” she admitted as they neared the end of the walk. They stood right under the Coleman Bridge. “I just had some bad sleep.”

He shrugged. “What are friends for?” he spoke softly.

His hand was still there, resting on her back, giving her a sense of security and sureness. “You ready to head home, G-woman?”

She nodded as he quietly led her back to their car to take them back to their live modern lives in Washington D.C.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More exploring in the present and the past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last section look familiar? It is the original drabble that inspired all of this. I considered it to intergeral to the whole sorry not to leave it out.
> 
> Thanks to tumblr users @mulders-boyish-enthusism and @scully-loves-ruthie for the help on this.

When I first remembered, I actually thought I was losing my mind. The shrinks called me a schizophrenic. I'm not crazy. I swear it. I remember one life and this current one. And one or two more. They just sort of blend together. I'm myself, all at once. I don't honestly believe all the talk about past lives but I have vivid memories that aren't my own but they are. I want to make things right in this life since I was wronged in the second life. She belongs to me. She was my wife. He stole her from me. I can get her back. I will get her back.

 

. . . .

 

Hegel Place  
Alexandria, Virginia  
December 13, 1998 

11:15 PM

Mulder unlocked his door clumsily to his apartment, dropping his bags by the door inside and kicking the door shut with the back of his foot. He was exhausted. The drive had taken longer than anticipated as they got stuck in ungodly traffic right at the Occuquan, like clockwork. It never mattered if they were coming or going from Washington and the Beltway, that sore spot of I-95 at Occuquan always had traffic. He had dropped the fleet sedan at the Hoover building, dropped a tired Scully back home in Georgetown, and drove himself back to Alexandria. He was exhausted. He debated just crashing on the leather couch in his disheveled suit but mustered enough energy to march into the bedroom and into his bathroom.

He fumbled with the shower as he stripped off the clothes, on autopilot. His thoughts drifted to the case they had worked on the previous year, Buckley's off behavior, and Scully's recent confessions of odd dreams and sleep. He honestly did not know what to make them. At one time, he would have believed his own hypnotic regression and the fact he claimed to be some confederate soldier name Sam Biddle and Scully had been his sergeant. But he did not anymore. When did he lose his faith in believing? He believed Scully though. He always believed in Scully, didn't he?

He rubbed his face wearily trying to wipe the self-doubt and conflicting voices from his mind. That did not seem right, not after all they had been through last year, especially the cancer. When she had been taken from him the first time, he was ready to kill everyone. He also began to suspect he was in love with her. Then the cancer. Being unable to help her, the smoking man offering a miracle, he was ready to sell his soul to the devil for the woman he loved more than anything. Maybe, back in Tennesse, had been wrong?

Mulder stepped into the hot shower and winced as his sore muscles began to unwind. It is true, past lives sometimes came to in dreams. Melissa transitioned between her multiple lives like a personality disorder, each one taking over her body like a new soul with its own habit and ticks. Buckley...he really did not want his tired mind to go into profiler mood right now. He seemed to be the same all himself with the knowledge of others. How weird. And Scully had been called Starbuck by Boggs and now this creep. How would Buckley know what to call her? And another thing, he had called Mulder lieutenant. That was odd. He made a mental to start researching past lives in his spare time.

By the time the shower was done, he toweled himself off and pulled on a pair of sleeping pants. He was bone tired and he and Scully had another mind-numbing day of either background checks or fertilizer patrol. He made a mental note to stop that cafe that she really liked to pick up a blueberry muffin and some coffee for them, her bee pollen diet be damned. He set the alarm for five a.m., leaving time for a morning run, and pulled back the sheets on the waterbed. He was not a fan of the waterbed but he had to admit it was a big step up from the couch. He sighed and tried to relax. He shut off the lamp on the nightstand, closed his eyes, and let his mind drift to Scully and past lives as he finally fell asleep.

. . . .

Gosport Shipyard  
Portsmouth, Virginia  
February 4, 1862

He was freezing in the snowy weather as he stood outside the building of the officer's quarters. Lieutenant Fox Mulder, formerly of the United States Army and now of the Confederate States Marines, was unsure of what he was doing among all these navy men. His commanding officer was a grizzled old navy captain named Captain Franklin Buchanan. The sea captain was shorter than he had expected, and less refined as well.

He looked at the papers in front of him before glancing up the lieutenant. “Says here you were army before the war.”

“Yes, sir,” Mulder stood at attention. “I graduated the Virginia Military Institute. I was trained to do work with intelligence, sir.”

“You means all that spy nonsense. Then why are you a marine,” he grumbled.

“My mother thought it best. She comes from a well-to-do family in North Carolina--”

“You mean, a family with connections,” the captain corrected.

“I guess. Yes, sir.” He gave a weak smile. “She thought I 'd be safer aboard a ship rather than on land, sir. I really did not have any say in the matter.”

“Hm. Well mommy always does know best, does she? Well, as my new officer in charge of my marines, I hope you fit right among us navy men. Welcome aboard the CSS Virginia.”

The aged captain rose from behind his desk and held out his hand. Mulder shook it formally. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“Now I am throwing a little gathering for my officers, including you, Lieutenant. It'll be a good way for you to introduce yourself to your fellow officers. It's my wife's birthday. Nothing formal mind you. I just like for my men to get to know each other,” he said after a moment. “I'll send the invitation formally in a few weeks.”

“Yes, sir.” He snapped to attention.

“Dismissed, Lieutenant Mulder,” he nodded.

Mulder left his captain's office and took a look at the naval yard and barracks he was now stationed at. He could see the ironclad from a distance and what a sight it was. The ship was about three hundred feet long. The steel tented over the main ship like a huge tent down the length of the ship with multiple cannons peaking out through the iron. He never thought a man so capable of building something like that and if it would even be capable of staying afloat. All that metal, the ship was sure to sink! His mind wandered, as it often did. Then he realized he had seen his new captain before when he first come into Norfolk. The woman that was with him. That must have been his wife.

He remembered the warmth he felt, the comfort, when he gazed upon the beautiful woman. Mabye he was losing his mind. This new life tended to do that. But if it was her, he wanted to do something nice for her. It would only be cordial and maybe win some favor over with his new captain.

. . . .

Georgetown, Washington D.C.  
December 14, 1998

Her phone was ringing. Instinctively, she reached for her cell phone from her bd and answered it sleepily, “Scully.”

“Scully, it's me.”

His voice soothed her as she turned over in bed, instinctively on her back. “Hm. I had the same dream again.”

“Did you?”

“Uh huh. It was so weird, Mulder.” She heaved a heavy sigh. She rolled onto her back beneath the covers. “And too real. But I can't remember it if I try. Like it felt like a memory, something that I lived through, but I can't remember. I know I did but I can't.”

“Surreal?”

“What?”

“It feels surreal. Like deja vu.”

“Real.” She clarified. “I can't explain it.”

“Are you awake, Scully?”

“I'm talking to you.”

“Breakfast in 90 minutes,” he asked.

“Hm. That sounds nice. Where at?”

“That bakery you like with the blueberry muffins? I was going to bring you one and some coffee but why don't I just buy you breakfast?”

“Why are you being so nice? Are you planning a getaway to Nevada again for us? Why are you so instant on paying for all my food, Mulder,” she mused softly. He could hear a yawn on the other end of the phone. “Hm. Sounds good. I'll meet you there?”

“Count on it, Scully.”

He hung up the phone and rubbed his face sleepily. Right before he had woken up, he had been dreaming something. Something important. Something he felt like he knew but could not put his finger on.

. . . .

 

Good Bean!  
Washington D.C.  
December 14, 1998

Scully stifled a yawn behind her hand as she saw Mulder walking down the street with a newspaper tucked under his arm. It wasn't even 6:30 A.M yet. He opened the door, a bell sounding and announcing his arrival. She gave a tired smile as he slid across from her at the table.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he greeted, sliding her the paper. “Check it out, we're famous.”

She took the paper wearily and chuckled at the colored picture on the back of the post of her and Mulder walking from the Norfolk courthouse again. “I didn't think his sentencing would be in the press.” Mulder shrugged. “At least they got your good side.”

“All my sides are good. I'll call them and see if I can get a picture for the...” he paused. Scully looked up from the paper and realized he was about to say 'office.'

“Well, you still order them if you want. I can put it on my desk and we can add to water cooler talk about us. The Spookys yearly crime scene photo Christmas card.” He smiled slightly and cleared his throat. “And no. I have not ordered anything yet.”

“Consider thy will be done,” he said, pushing up from the booth and giving a mock bow, to go order for them.

She gazed at the picture on the back of the paper affectionately and then to her lanky partner standing in line. Her mind drifted to troubled night's sleep she had previously and to the night before that. What was causing all this? What had come over her? Could Buckley be involved somehow? She smiled at the scent of coffee as he placed a large blueberry muffin front of her and steaming mug of the caffeinated treat. “Hm. Thanks, Mulder.”

“Anytime.” They paused, unsure what to say in the awkward silence. He began tentatively,“Do you want to tell me about last night?”

“What's there to tell?” She took a fork and stabbed at the blueberry muffin. “I had the same one and another one, I think.”

“Try the second dream first, if it helps.”

“I feel silly about this, Mulder. I can't believe I'm even entertaining the idea. This is ridiculous.” She put the fork down and placed her face in her hands. “Maybe I just should forget it.”

“Your instincts are never wrong, Scully,” he said softly. “Why would they be wrong on this one? I'm not refuting or agreeing with you. I'm here, listening as a friend. I'm not judging. I'm not proposing you go under hypnosis to recover lost memories. I'm just here to listen.”

“And buy me breakfast every morning.”

“That too. Come on, Scully, I'm not going to blab to the entire world. It's just me.”

Scully hesitated, her mind briefly flashing back to Diana Fowley, unsure why she would even think about the idea of Mulder running of and telling her that Scully was experiencing past lives. He would never betray her like that. Where did that come from? She blinked lazily, coming out of her reverie.

“You're doing it again,” Mulder said quietly.

“Doing what?”

“Zoning out. When we were with Buckley yesterday, how you just went off on him. Scully, I know you. Like I know you better than myself. I've never felt such,” he paused, licking his lips, unsure of the right word, “wrath from you. Such anger. So much ferocity. I've never felt that coming from you. Such hatred.”

She shook her head dismissively. Mulder pursed his lips as if considering something. Since Scully had mentioned her own dreams, he wondered. “You noticed he called me something yesterday. Lieutenant.” Her blue eyes met his. “I think, I think I may have had a dream of my own as well.”

“What?”

“I was called 'Lieutenant' something like I had been in the military. I don't remember the exact details but I wanted to get someone something special,” he concluded thoughtfully. He sipped his coffee. “I was supposed to go to a birthday and I had to get something special for someone.”

“That's kind of anticlimactic, Mulder. Not going to lie.”

He chuckled slightly. “Sorry to disappoint. But with what you described earlier, I woke up feeling the same way.”

“I was married,” she confessed quickly, taking a stab at her muffin. She ate it quickly hoping it would prevent her from saying anything else stupid. “In this dream I know I was married. I was miserable too.”

“Any clue to a time period?”

She licked her lips and lowered her gaze to the uneaten muffin. She took another piece off with her fork and ate it. “I think the 1800s maybe if I had to guess. Don't ask how I know. I don't. But all the dreams are from the same time.”

“Fair enough,” he nodded.

“What do you think it means, Mulder?”

“Either we've gone crazy or maybe...maybe there is something to it.” He took a long sip of his own coffee. “We could mention something to Diana...”

“No.” She cut him off quickly. “No. Forgot I mentioned anything, Mulder. Just forget about the entire thing.”

“Scully, we don't have the x-files anymore. I can't research older files to see if there is a connection. But we can still find help for you.”

“I said forget it!” she snapped angrily. “Just forget it.”

“Scully, Diana can help you.”

“I don't want her touching me with a ten-foot pole. I don't want her anywhere near me.”

“Why don't you trust her? I trust her.”

“Mulder, I'm not going down this road this early in the morning.” She closed her eyes wearily and pinched the bridge of her nose, already feeling the beginnings of an early morning headache. “Not now.”

“Maybe we need to,” he said quietly. “I mean, we've been a bit better but that cloud hangs over us. Ever since...”

“Ever since Antarctica and Arizona? I know, but I can't this morning, Mulder.”

“Scully, I just want to help you.”

“Mulder,” she spoke weakly, turning her eyes away and pinching the bridge of her nose, “please don't.”

He was about to open his mouth when his phone started to ring. He sighed and opened his phone. “Mulder.”

Scully bit her lip, trying to regain control her emotions. The last thing she wanted to do was divide them further. Ever since they had gotten back to Antarctica, they had been rebuilding their relationship carefully, growing closer in the progress. But Mulder was right about something. Diana's shadow still hung between them, unspoken. She had come to her partner as a friend, as a confidant, and confessed her uneasiness. His first reaction was to go to Diana. It was always Diana these days and Diana this and Diana that it seemed. If he mentioned it to Diana, in her mind, their fragile trust would be broken eventually.

“That was Skinner. We have to go back to Norfolk.”

“Why?” she asked, noting the steely shift in his voice.

“Buckley's escaped.”

. . . .

It really wasn't that hard to escape. They underestimated me. Low security. Two guards. The chains were loose enough. Get one distracted, knock one out, choke the other one. Grab the keys. Unlock the chains. Hotwire the car. Easy. I know enough to get by and hide because of this life. I know enough about my last life that I can have my revenge and reclaim what is mine. I just need a plan. And I am the man with the plan.

. . . .

 

Dulles Airport  
Washington D.C.  
December 14, 1998

Scully had grown strangely quiet and withdrawn into herself as they drove from the airport. Mulder watched her from his peripheral as they waited to board. “Scully,” he called gently.

“I'm not going to talk about this morning.”

“Scully.”

“Don't 'Scully' me.” She hissed.

“Why are you so upset?”

“Why would you even consider talking to Diana in the first place?” She felt a rage building in her, not just from the past six years, but beyond. “I come to you as a friend—my best friend and you instantly go to a stranger to talk about my problems!”

“She isn't a stranger!”

“To me, she is!”

“Is my trust not enough for you?” he snapped, his anger getting the best of him.

“For her, no!” she spat. Scully crossed her arms and closed her eyes, willing herself to draw mentally inward. “I've chased after you on the random hunches, you chased me to the ends of the world, but Mulder, something about her I don't trust. Please, as my friend, don't re-confess my confessions to you.”

He looked down. His heart was hammering in his chest. He felt a wave of emotion overtake, ages old, him like a tsunami. “Scully,” he whispered softly, hesitantly, reaching for her hand.

She wrenched her hand away. “Don't. Not right now.”

Mulder took a deep breath. “Don't do this to me.”

“I'm not,” she mumbled. More than anything, the rare few times he held her, especially during the cancer was the safest she felt in her life. She just wanted him to hold her forever until the world ended. “We have a case and our personal feelings need to be sidelined.”

“Personal feelings? Scully,” he implored. “Stop shutting me out. Your jealousy is hindering our relationship.”

“My jealousy?” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I believer our row is next.”

“Scully.”

“Mulder, just stop right now. Just stop!” she snapped.

“Now you're acting like a child.”

“A child? Mulder, the only one acting childish is you. Because it is all about you. It has always been about you.” Her voice had gone cold and Mulder saw her transform instantly. “I'm done with this conversation. Now, we need to go. Our number is being called.”

“Scully,” he pleaded to her retreating back. He grabbed his bag and moved to grab hers automatically, but she had already picked up her bag and was already walking towards the gate. He hung his head dejectedly and followed her onto the plane.

. . . .

Free Mason, Norfolk, Virginia  
February 23, 1862

Lieutenant Mulder marched up the snowy steps in his best officer's dress. He knocked briefly on the door and felt awkward standing out in the snowy street. A maid opened the door and bowed her head respectively. “Sir, may I take your coat?”

Mulder nodded and stepped into the rich hallways. His eyes traveled, taking in all the directions. He could hear laughter coming from the dining room. Another woman rushed by quickly from the kitchen dressed in all manner of finery. Her elegant red hair was artfully twisted and styled. She sighed in relief when she saw the maid. “Molly, oh thank goodness! I need you to get the wine from the cellar,” she spoke quickly. “Franklin has already decimated the port.”

“Yes, ma'am. But our last guest has just arrived.” The maid gestured uselessly to Mulder.

“See the lieutenant to the dining room then!” She rushed to the kitchen. “Pauline, pull the chicken! I can smell it burning!”

The maid gave a small smile. “If you would follow me, sir.”

She led him to the dining room where he found all the officers of the CSS Virginia, the captain sitting at the head of the table. “Ah, Lieutenant Mulder! Men, this here is the lieutenant in charge of our ship's marines!”

He gave a weary smile at all the naval officers and slid into the chair closest to the hallway. He sighed, watching all the other naval officers, who already knew each other. Unsure of what to do, he did what he did best. Remain silent and watch. He found it odd, that if this was supposed to be a birthday dinner party for the captain's wife, then where was the captain's wife?

“Dana!” the old captain bellowed, his voice growing in intensity. “Dana!”

“Coming, Franklin!”

Mulder saw the beautiful woman from the hallway from when he arrived. She looked flustered but still managed to give a beautiful smile. She motioned for the kitchen staff to bring out the dinner. “I hope everything looks wonderful,” she smiled cordially to the officers. “I've worked on this all day and I hope it pleases you.

Captain Buchanan smiled and patted his wife's arm affectionately. “The woman is amazing, gentlemen.”

“Thank you, Franklin. Now, please, sirs, enjoy!”

The captain's wife smiled indulgently, but the smile was forced. Mulder could see her unhappiness in her eyes as she took her place next to her husband.

. . . .

Dinner continued without issue and soon it was the men started talking and the wine was flowing freely despite it being the midst of the War of Northern Aggression. Lieutenant Mulder sat quietly, swishing the sherry in his glass quietly as his aged captain, Captain Franklin Buchanan, laughed deeply, swinging his navy saber in some swashbuckling story as the rest of his officers laughed. Everyone but him and his wife, an enigmatic redhead with startling blue eyes.

Lieutenant Mulder was not used to keeping company with navy men. He was already regretting his decision to come here. He thought there would be other wives, even ladies to mix with the company of grizzled sailors. He himself was a marine of the Confederate States Marine Core stationed aboard the CSS Virginia, previously the USS Merrimack. He had found himself in this position because of the well-established connections of his mother and her North Carolina family, he found himself assigned to the CSMC right after Virginia decided to succeed from the Union. Previously he had been a graduate of the Virginia Military Institute and an officer in the United States Army. He had hoped to remain a soldier and stationed somewhere ashore, but now he was a marine, stationed on some new fantastical ironclad, and knew nothing about it.

He felt uncomfortable among the navy men. Aside from the captain's wife, she was the only lady present, he probably was the only one out of place. "Lieutenant Mulder," the old captain bellowed, "you look happier than a sailor who just found out his wife left him!"

Mulder frowned in confusion. "Sir?"

"You look like hell, son!" the captain guffawed. The rest of his officers chuckled as well at his expense. “I know you are the only marine in this room, but we aren't so bad!”

“He can't hold his liquor among us sailors,” a young officer cajoled.

“Ensign Reems,” the captain laughed. “He can't help it! He's a land lover!”

Mulder looked into his glass of sherry quizzically and downed the rest of it. He was miserable. Why did he even think he could come and fit among them? He always had trouble fitting anywhere else. Maybe he could make a getaway. "Do you mind if I step out, sir? I feel like the fresh air might do me some good."

"Damn it, Mulder! It is the middle of February and my wife's birthday, pay her some respect," he drunkenly bellowed. “I will not suffer insult in my own home!”

Mrs. Buchanan's eyes, his wife, narrowed at him thoughtfully. He met those blue eyes and quickly looked away at the sheer intensity of the gaze. She rose quickly and placed a calming hand on her husband's arm. "Franklin, it truly is no trouble. Let me show him the study and you and your officers can have some time for yourselves. Wouldn't that be lovely?"

“Probably be best to get the bastard out of here anyway,” someone else grumbled.

The old captain smiled and kissed her hand affectionately. "What would I do without you, my angel, my Dana? It is your birthday after all."

Mulder raised an eyebrow and met the wife's even stare. She smiled slightly and nodded at him to join her as she left the table. Mulder quietly followed her out of the dining room and up the stairs to the study. As he joined her in the study, she shut the door soundly and locked it. "Dear God," she cried, heaving a sigh. "I thought I would never be free of them. Lieutenant Mulder, was it?"

"Lieutenant Fox Mulder at your service, ma'am." He bowed slightly and kissed her hand respectively. "And Mrs. Buchanan, correct?"

"Dana. Just Dana," she laughed, waving a hand. "I don't know who rescued who, Fox."

"Mulder," he corrected softly. "I never really liked my first name. At the Institute, they always made fun of me. Sly Fox. I detested it."

"Institute?" she raised an elegant eyebrow. "Weren't you a Navy man before the war?"

"Army actually," he admitted weakly. "I graduated from VMI, worked in intelligence with the army, and found myself in the marines, no thanks to my mother's connections with the secretary of the navy. I hoped to remain in the army though. My mother's from North Carolina. I was born in Martha's Vineyard but my father died shortly after the birth of my sister Samantha and then my mother moved us out of, and I use her words, 'the godforsaken north,' back to her family's plantation in North Carolina. My sister died a few winters ago from the flu. I know nothing about the marines or the navy."

"Army," she repeated thoughtfully, "well, I'll take credit for our rescue then. I've been around sailors all my wife. Shall we toast our brave escape?"

Mulder shifted uneasily from boot to boot. "I don't know if that is wise, Mrs. Buchanan. You're husband..."

"Dana," she corrected sharply, smiling toothily at him. "Nonsense, it is my birthday and I declare we need a toast. I have not celebrated my birthday yet. My husband is more concerned about getting drunk with his naval officers then care about his wife." She went to a side table and poured them two glasses liberally full of whiskey. "This is my husband's best whiskey. Only the best for us."

She passed him the glass and held it out for a toast. Mulder raised it half-heartedly. "I'm sorry you have not had a chance to celebrate. To your birthday then?"

"And our escape from those dreadful navy men," she declared chinking the glasses. They downed the whiskey quickly and Mulder looked at the empty glass thoughtfully. "Another round, Mulder?"

"Yes, ma'am." She looked sharply at him. With a sigh, he amended, "Dana."

She freshened their glasses and she led him the couches in the corner of the study next to the roaring fireplace. Mulder sat stiffly down as she sat across from him, smiling. "So, Mr. Lieutenant Fox Mulder of the marines, are you excited to be attached to the newest frigate of the navy, the great CSS Virginia? I heard you were the officer in charge of them onboard."

"I get seasick," he admitted ruefully once he realized her sarcasm. “I suppose I am. However, they mock me and I know my men detest me.”

“How so?” she asked softly. She rested her arm on the back of the couch to prop her head up.

“You really don't want to know,” he said softly. He was hiding something. “I just get seasick.”

She bit back a laugh. "Well, I wish I could say the same. I feel like I should as much I've been around the navy all my life."

"What do you mean?" he asked, intrigued.

"My family is a navy family. I got engaged to Franklin when I was, oh, 25? So almost eight years ago. My father was a Navy captain and he and Franklin served together. Joined the navy when they both were 15 years old. My brothers, William and Charles, are too. They serve in the United States Navy. We're an old Baltimore family, as is his. So, me being the youngest daughter..." She shrugged, waving her hand, and sipped her drink. "It only seemed natural. My sister Missy. She was the lucky one. She is constantly traveling Europe. Only God knows where she is now."

"Sounds interesting," he said carefully. He felt himself relaxing slightly around his captain's wife. “Sorry.”

"For what? I don't bite, Mr. Mulder. I can care less what you think of my bore of a husband. There are thirty years between us in age mind you."

"He is my commanding officer. I did not presume to know anything, Mrs. Buchanan." The glare again. "I'm sorry. Dana."

"Well, I appreciate it. This is not much of a birthday, is it?” She sighed. “I rarely see him, which is a blessing in itself, but he invites all his friends and officers and I am still left managing my own dinner party!"

“Why, if I may be so bold, are so happy in not seeing him?” Mulder bit his lip. “Forgive me.”

“No, no.” She waved her hand. “This air of honesty is refreshing. I have never had anyone who treats me like an equal.”

“Why wouldn't they,” he blurted. He closed his eyes and bit his tongue. “You are obviously one of great intelligence.”

“How would you know?”

She smiled indulgently and swished her whiskey glass. Mulder shrugged and polished off his. “Some things you know, just like you know who to trust.” He closed his eyes. “I apologize for my tongue.”

“Don't,” she soothed.

“For the record, Dana,” he said softly. “It was all very delightful, company excluded below. I think this is my favorite part of the night, excluding the company below.”

“What about present company,” she teased with a soft smile.

“Best I've met all night.” Mulder drew out a small rose brooch from his uniform jacket's pocket. "I know it is not much, and please do not think me presumptuous, Dana but when I was told it was your birthday, I thought it customary to get you something." He presented the brooch to her. "Forgive me if it is too much."

Dana took the small jewel studded rose brooch and sighed appreciatively. "It is gorgeous. Thank you. Your wife must be very lucky."

"My wife Diana passed two years ago," he said quietly. She spied his wedding band. "Childbirth. Neither she nor the child made it. I am a widower."

"My condolences."

He shrugged noncommittally. He gazed out the window, watching the snow swirl in the streets of Norfolk, Virginia. "So, how do you like it here?"

“Norfolk or my marriage?” She smiled dryly. "I detest it, I detest everything. As I detest this entire horrible war." She paused and looked at him thoughtfully. Now was the chance to test him. Could he be the one? He had to be. She could feel it. "Can you keep a secret?"

He nodded, intrigued by her sudden quietness. “What sort of secret?”

She got up and went to the bookshelf and pulled out a much read copy of 'Moby Dick'. "This is one of my favorite books. My father gave it to me when it was published," she began, "and thus the perfect hiding place."

"Hiding place?"

The first test. She watched him from the bookcase. Well, it was good news that he had not run away yet. But he was tense, nervous, almost afraid. She crossed the threshold and claimed his loose hand. Unconsciously, he squeezed it tightly yet did not relinquish it. “Mulder, can I trust you?”

He looked down at their still joined hands and after a long moment. “Yes. Of course.”

She sighed, weighing heavily if she should tell him, ultimately deciding that she could trust him with her secret. He had to be the one. "It was no turn of events that I asked you up here tonight, Mr. Mulder, granted my husband is very annoying and ruining my birthday. But I feel like I can trust you. And I am probably taking a very big gamble with this." She let go of his hand and took another sip of the whiskey and leaned back into the couch. "I detest this war. I detest slavery. It spilt my family, kept me from my parents and my siblings because of my godforsaken marriage. I wanted to go to university and be a doctor but no, I had to be the dutiful daughter." Dana took a long breath and sighed. "This war has taken everything from me. I want to end it and I will do anything in my power to end it."

"I understand," he replied slowly. "I never wanted to serve and I agree with your views on slavery. It is a deplorable practice that needs to be abolished."

"Why do you serve?"

He sighed looking at his freehand longingly. She took it without hesitation. He looked up in surprise as if the answer was obvious. "I do it because I must. I am bound by duty."

"Duty," she said softly. "Duty to do what is right or to your country?"

"What country," Mulder snorted. "A loose confederacy of states claiming to be a country? Or those states up north? The United States is divided and failing. This war will end no time soon and the victory will be covered in blood."

"Then help me end it," she said, grabbing his hands quickly. They looked down at their joined hands and quickly broke away as if it burned them. "Help me and the Union. You are a part of the Confederacy's newest ship. I know the Union is building their own ironclad, the Monitor."

"How? How do you know such knowledge." Then it dawned on Mulder. "You're a spy."

He released their hands as if it burned him. God, what had come over him? Why was he grabbing this woman's hands as if he had known her all his life? How could he explain the inexplicable warmth he had felt growing in his chest. He had to do something. Right? She smiled tightly and did not deny it. "Does it surprise you? Are you going to turn me in and tell my husband?"

He should. He should by duty but something...something stirred in him. The desire to do something greater and be a part of the greater good. But most of all, it was the way she gazed at him. There was a long, pregnant pause before he answered. "No."

Dana fingered the rose brooch slowly and then looked at Mulder. "I see it in your eyes, Mr. Mulder. Help me and the Union. Feed us information about the Virginia. I can feel you want to do right."

"That is no small task, even if I could do it."

"David brought down Goliath. One lone man made a difference."

"Why? Why should I help you?"

"You're like me," she said after a moment. "You want to do what is right. For the greater good."

Mulder was quiet for a moment, looking out the window. He still did know why he agreed to it, years after the fact. He let out a breath he had been holding without realizing it. "Okay. I'll help you."

Dana rushed up to the bookcase and grabbed the book. She clutched the copy of Moby Dick to her chest gleefully. "You will not regret this, Mulder. I promise you." She passed him the book. "This is a book code. Learn it. Memorize it." He took the book and flipped through it. "And read it too if you get the chance, it is a wonderful tale."

"How does this work?" he asked, wondering if he was already regretting this decision.

"In due course," she smiled broadly. "I'll send information in time."

"Dana! Dana!" her drunken husband called. "Wife, where are you!?!?"

Dana rolled her eyes and held the brooch out to Mulder. "Do you mind? I want to show off the one birthday gift I got this year."

"Of course, Dana."

His hand shook slightly, but she claimed his wrist, and he fixed the brooch to her evening gown. She caught his shaking hands gently, patted them, and gave him a warm smile. "Shall we, Lieutenant Mulder, rejoin my birthday dinner?"

"Of course," he mumbled numbly. He got up, tucked the book under his right arm, and offered his left arm. "Mrs. Buchanan."

She took the offered arm. "A gentleman and an officer." She patted his arm gently. "And for now on, you must refer to me by my maiden name as we will be working together. Not my married name."

"Which is?"

"Scully. Dana Scully. Now, Lieutenant, shall we?"

He pursed his lips and lowered his voice whispering in her ear. “What about just Scully? Mulder and Scully. No one will know.”

“I knew you were brilliant, Mulder.”

“I marvel in beauty's intelligence, Scully,” he nodded and led her back down to the drunken escapades of birthday dinner party below.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past and present begin to mingle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have too much going on the next week to update Friday so you get it early.
> 
> Next update will be around January 19th. Thanks for understand :)

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 14, 1998

 

The silence was killing him. Figuratively and probably literally at this point. So was the ticking of his silver wristwatch. In the past few hours, every time he attempted conversation with her, he was shut down. The flight was painful enough. The cab ride to the car rental place and then the actual ride. It was excruciating. Mulder had tried to make a conversion, small talk, to apologize--anything. But that icy shoulder. Scully was not called the ice queen for nothing. And once again, their wordless communication was serving them well, but there was only so much Mulder could take from the lack of actually speaking to one another.

 

As they pulled up into the parking lot and he leaned forward against the steering wheel and then back into the seat. He had to say something. He could not keep silent anymore. “Scully.”

 

“I told you no, Mulder.” Her tone was still so icy. “This is not the time!”

 

“Well, we need to make the time,” he snapped. “We don't talk and every time we do, we fuck up! I can't risk losing you again.”

 

“Again?” Scully's reply was curt and her cold eyes glanced at him dismissively. “We're late,” she replied curtly.

 

She exited the vehicle and started to stride toward the building, leaving Mulder behind. Mulder hit the steering wheel angrily before dragging himself out into the chilly air. It was suffocating and bothering him more than usual. Mulder had experienced a pissed off Scully. He knew when to give her space and she would be fine. But this was not one of those times. He felt the need to make things right more so. He did not know where it came from but the desire to make right between them burned. But he still followed her, through the parking lot and up into the building.

They went down the hallway as they were directed to a larger conference room where there was a large task force of agents already assembled. They stood towards the back as the SAC in charge, ASAC Benson, called for silence. “All right, quiet, everyone!”

 

The grumblings stopped and bleary-eyed agents as they sipped bitter coffee. Mulder silently passed Scully a mug of lukewarm coffee, which she took without hesitation. She sipped it tentatively and whispered, “Thanks.”

 

He smiled a bit to himself as ASAC Benson began. “All right, first off, thank you all for coming out this morning. I'll keep it to the point. We're all here to catch Francis Buckley. At 11:19 last night, he escaped in the middle of transport. We do not know the exact details of how but two guards were killed. I have brought in Agents Mulder and Scully, the original agents who apprehended Buckley last year, from Washington to help.”

 

They could feel everyone's gaze turn towards them. Scully instinctively stood a little closer to partner as he placed his hand on the small of her back. “I don't know how helpful we can be,” Mulder answered for both of them. “But we'll do our best.”

 

“You're profile was invaluable to hunting him down the first time, Agent Mulder. And Agent Scully's forensic work was unparalleled. We're glad to have you back on the team. In the meantime, why do you two get caught up and review the case files of his escape? We have a lot of ground to cover. Dirk, take a group of agents and head to Portsmouth and been canvassing the area. Lucas, Evans, you all get together a tip line and start reviewing any pertinent video taps.” The ASAC clapped his hands commandingly. “Let's get to work people!”

 

“I should probably start with the bodies of the guards,” she whispered to him. The rest of the task force was already busy. She could hear phones and endless chatter. “They might have missed something.”

 

“Nothing that the coroner won't find,” he said. He chewed his lip. The same way he did when his mind was forming a theory. “I wonder...”

 

“What, Mulder?” she asked softly.

 

“Fox, what a surprise!”

 

Scully's blood turned to ice literally as they both turned to see Diana Fowley. She glanced quickly at Mulder, wondering if he had called her. But he was just as surprised too, she concluded. He probably knew nothing about it. He quickly glanced at her, silently seeing she was not mad at him. Yet.

 

“What are you doing here, Diana?”

 

“Chasing down a lead,” she smiled, ignoring Scully. “Spender is back up in D.C. doing research. You know how I love field work, Fox. Apparently, they found something of interest in his cell. A journal of sorts, describing what sounds like a past life. What better case for the x-files division.”

 

It was our division, our work, Scully thought angrily, not yours.

 

Before Mulder could up with a reply, Scully stiffened unconsciously and said quickly, “I need to get going, Mulder. I'm going to reexamine the old evidence.”

 

“Scully,” he called but she had already left. He sighed and Diana merely smiled. “Well, it looks like I'll be working with you, Fox.”

 

He hated when she called him Fox. She had done it three times in three minutes. It made his skin crawl. “How so?” he asked sarcastically. “Last time I saw, I was no longer a part of the x-files division, and my partner was and still currently is Scully.”

 

“Maybe the profile might benefit from this knowledge of past lives. There were mentions of it in a journal he kept after his initial trial. Did you miss it?”

 

“I sincerely doubt it, Diana. He is a murderer, plain and simple.”

 

“Still,” she pressed, “it could be invaluable. You need my perspective on this to make it work.”

 

“Actually, I need to go. I need to revisit the profile I wrote on him,” he said. Truth be told, he was worried about Scully (when was he not) and the mention of the journal and a past life. His brain was going a thousand miles an hour, already making the connections, and he needed to talk to his partner. “I'm sure the task force will be glad to talk about past lives and what not.”

 

Mulder left to find Scully before Diana could ensnare him in another conversation. He found her down the hall, standing in a lonely conference room, staring out the window, her arms wrapped herself, and her head bowed. “Scully?” he called softly, so not to startle her.

 

“What is happening to me, Mulder?” Her voice was broken.

 

He shut the door behind him. She turned to face him and Scully seemed older than she actually was. And smaller. “What is it? What do you mean?” he asked softly. “Did something happen?”

 

She waved her hand. “I can't keep a straight head on me. I feel so disoriented”

 

“What do you mean, Scully?”

 

“Things are...confusing.” She sighed in frustration. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I keep getting these snippets mostly images and emotions. Memories. They're memories. My memories I think. From a different place. A different time. It's like I'm living two lifetimes.” She hesitated in adding anything else and flawed her hand in the air. “A different time. They're mine but not. I can't focus, Mulder. I can't focus on the present. I can't focus on the case.”

 

“Hey.” He looked at her thoughtfully and grasped her waving hand gently. Squeezing it lightly, he instructed, “Start by taking a deep breath, Scully.”

 

“Mulder, I'm a doctor, what the hell good does it do,” she said quickly.

 

“Then you'll recognize that your anxiety is sky high. Given psychology is my forte, trust me. Take a deep breath, close your eyes, and try to clear your mind. Just focus on your breathing, anything but all those thoughts running through your head.” He had an idea what was causing the anxiety, probably flashbacks to the abduction, Ruskin Dam. Missing time and he knew deep down that had traumatized her. Those things they did not bring up but they knew it existed. “It's okay, Scully.”

 

“This is pointless,” she mumbled but did as she was told. Taking a deep breath. She tried to separate herself from the flux of random emotions of fear of a grizzled old man and the fondness of the man with hazel eyes. She instead focused on Mulder's hand gently clutching hers and the sounds of other FBI agents down the hall. Scully could feel herself relaxing, coming back to the present, and she nodded. “I'm okay. I'm okay.”

 

Mulder examined her with a concerned eye. “Why don't we go over the evidence again together, have some more coffee, and we'll meet with the ASAC Benson?”

 

She nodded again, silently grateful he was not making a big deal about this. “What about Diana?” she asked in a small voice.

 

“I'll deal with her; don't worry, Scully.”

 

She perked up, hearing the slight, subtle change of tone in his voice. I got this now, for both of us. Don't worry, he seemed to say. She nodded in thanks. “I'll go grab us some more coffee.”

 

“Sounds like a plan. I'll grab the files and we'll meet back here, okay?”

 

She nodded and disappeared down the corridor. Mulder took a moment to reflect on what had just transpired. Diana was here, no doubt to stir up something. Since their spat earlier that morning, he was trying to be receptive to Scully's feelings. He did not believe Diana was a danger, but clearly, it was upsetting Scully, and the choice who would win out is favor was obviously his partner. But he had never seen her become so undone, talking about mixed feelings, images, that seemed to be colliding with her own consciousness. He had never heard of past lives bleeding over like that. And now Buckley had mentioned a past life? He needed to think. And what about his own dreams? What about Scully?

 

. . . .

 

Gosport Shipyard  
Portsmouth, Virginia  
February 28, 1862

 

Mulder leaned back in his cot, shifting beneath the blankets trying to keep the cold out, and gently paged through the worn copy of Moby Dick in the candlelight. Scully was right, the tale was a good one but learning the complicated book code was killing him to mesmerize it all. How did a woman like her devise something so complicated?

 

The day after he had left Norfolk and returned to his barracks in Portsmouth, he had found a loose brick near his barracks and a piece of folded paper sticking out. Within it, Scully had written him instructions on how to contact her and to also inform she would be there on the 28th. Apparently, she had been working on her husband, trying to encourage him that seeing Mulder would be good for her spirits to have some sort of friend to communicate with. How the hell did she pull off that, he wondered. A married woman seen with an unwed man? And why did she insist on meeting in person? How would she do it? He recalled his service in military intelligence before somehow being drafted into Confederate service. All the red flags were shooting up. This move was way too risky.

 

He heard the sound of a carriage outside of his barracks. It was Sunday morning. Most of the men were still out from the previous Saturday night or attending service. He pulled back the blanket and donned his shell jacket and blinked sleepily seeing his captain and his wife...Scully, he corrected mentally, in the carriage. “Lieutenant,” the captain said gruffly. “I need you to take my wife to mass.”

 

“Me, sir?” he asked. Why this odd arrangement? Was this not something a husband should do? “Shouldn't Mrs. Buchanan be escorted by someone else?”

 

“For some reason,” the captain began, glancing at his young wife, “she insists on you. Apparently, you both hit it off at her birthday.”

 

“Sir, doesn't this seem...” Mulder hesitated.

 

“Improper?” Scully supplied and smiled teasingly “Possibly. But I am a married woman but what is between us friends or to trust my virtue to one of my husband's officers while he is away?”

 

“Friends,” Captain Buchanan chuckled. “Dana, dear, your head is in the clouds.”

 

“Um, just give me a minute.” Mulder rushed back into the barracks and rushed to get his jacket on and make himself look presentable. When he came out, Captain Buchanan was already standing beside the carriage expectantly. “Just straight to mass, sir?”

 

“And make sure she gets home safely as well. If you will be in the company of my wife, Lieutenant Mulder, I expect you to take care of her.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“And make sure you report to your duty station at noon tomorrow on the ship. We need to make underway soon.”

 

“Aye, aye, sir.”

 

He snapped to attention and the captain nodded shortly. He turned to his wife and kissed her hand stiffly. “I will see you within the week, Dana.”

 

“Safe voyage,” she called, watching the old man retreat the opposite way through a bunch of buildings. She smiled warmly at the lieutenant. “Well, Mulder, I do believe we have mass to attend.”

 

Despite himself, he nodded. “I believe we do, Scully.” He climbed aboard the carriage and took the reins. “So, my first question, how on Earth did you convince the captain to even condone this?”

 

She laughed lightly and rested her hand on his bicep. “I am a woman of mysteries. I told you I wanted to meet again in person. I'm obviously very resourceful.”

 

“That you are,” he murmured.

 

. . . .

Norfolk, Virginia  
February 28, 1862

 

Scully could hear the church bells ringing as the left the Catholic church and pulled on her gloves. She watched Mulder exit awkwardly and pull on his kepi. “I appreciate you coming with me,” she began softly, “however, I sense you are not the church type.”

 

“Methodist at one point, my father's side was Jewish, I believe,” he said softly. “But I've lost my faith a long time ago. It started when my wife died along with the child, then with the start of war...” His voice faded softly. He was surprised how easy he could speak to her. Even the night he had might her, Scully had surprised him. “Forgive me. My tongue is too loose.”

 

“If you do not mind me asking, how long ago was it?”

 

“About several years ago. I was just a young buck officer,” he said. “The marriage...it was not necessarily the happiest of marriages. Arranged it seemed and I did it because it would be a very prosperous marriage.”

 

Scully was quiet, taken back by his mournful tone. An unhappy marriage. How he had echoed her thoughts on her own marriage. He was a puzzling man, carrying a deep ache all around him. She got the impression that he did it purposefully. “I can understand.”

 

He offered his arm. “Shall we?”

 

“Let me entertain you today,” she said softly, taking his hands. “Franklin is away, I have the house to myself, and you can learn exactly what we will be doing. Have you been reading the book? Isn't it a wonderful tale?” He gazed down at their clasped hands and felt something spark in the air. She must have felt it too because she released his hands. “Forgive me,” she said quickly.

 

“For what?” His voice was soft. “If anything it should be me.”

 

“I'm married,” she said quickly as if that would solve the tensions and admonish them of any impending sins.

 

“We can still be acquaintances...friends. I believe that is what you wanted to pursue,” he said slowly. “Aside from working together.”

 

“Yes. Friends. Just...friends. And working together. I truly do not have much here in Norfolk. Besides,” she said, taking a deep breath. “If you are serious about this...”

 

“I do not make false promises, Miss Scully.”

 

Scully gave a weak smile and took his arm. “Good. I don't intend to turn on my partner.”

 

“So were partners now?” he teased softly.

 

She smiled slightly at his lit humor. “We have to be,” she replied, lowering her voice. They strolled past the rest of the Sunday morning crowd and down the street. “What we are doing is consider treacherous, turning on this false country.” She scoffed. “We could easily die. That is always an ever-present threat.”

 

“I could die on that ironclad,” he said slowly. “I may just be a passing opportunity for you.”

 

She stilled him and looked him into his hazel eyes and he was mesmerized by her blue orbs. “Because you're not, Mulder. You are meant for so much more.”

 

“How do you trust me so easily?” he asked in a whisper.

 

“I just do,” she said after a pause, unsure of where her words were coming from. “I just.. do. With my life. What about you?”

 

He looked down at his feet, kicking the snow before he looked back up. “I know we've just met but I feel like...I feel like I've known you all my life, Scully. As strange as it sounds.”

 

“I don't think it strange, Mulder.” Because I feel the same, she thought. Strange. “Come. I know this wonderful like cafe down the street and then we can get to business.”

 

. . . .

 

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 14, 1998

 

“Scully, what do you see?”

 

Mulder pointed to three grisly photographs laid out on the table among old case files and old coffee. Scully sat in the chair, quietly reviewing autopsy notes from the previous year and then glancing back at the crime scene photos. He leaned over her, resting his hand near hers. She glanced at it quickly and cleared her throat. “The first death, he was sloppy. There was no motive. Just...it was random.”

 

“But the second one, it was more calculated,” Mulder continued tapping on a grizzly photo. “My profile established that when he got a taste for it and your autopsy verified it. Stereotypical. But look at the long lapse in between killings. There were also reports of similar killings in the area, none of them linked, but each one getting cleaner but they begin to take on certain characteristics. The women all have brown hair for awhile, the men's eye colors vary from blue to green to brown. We can't connect him to those but my instinct is telling me it's him, Scully. We were never been able to tie him to those other murders but I think it was him. It had to be.”

 

“So he gets better.” She tilted her head to glance at him. “I don't see the pattern.”

 

“He's looking for someone or someones maybe,” he answered after a moment. “Searching. Testing different pieces to see if something clicked.”

 

“Searching? Different pieces? Searching for what?”

 

“I don't know,” he whispered to himself. “Pieces of memory until something clicks.”

 

“What do you think he is planning or looking for, Mulder?”

 

Her partner shrugged. “He will kill again, that is a guarantee. I just don't know how yet. Or when. The guards, one dead and the other one in serious condition, those weren't a part of the plan. It was just the situation.”

 

“Mulder,” she asked hesitantly, “do you think...do you think it has anything to do with when we met him right after the trial?”

 

He glanced at her, biting his lip in thought. “And past lives?” he asked in a whisper.

 

“You think something,” she said, closing the files.

 

“I think a lot of things, Scully,” he said softly, “but I don't think we should jump ahead of ourselves. Nor do I think we should discount past lives. I have a hunch. I do think, however, that we shouldn't be separated on this. Not until we figure out this past lives thing. I just have a bad feeling. Before you left, Diana approached. She's inserted herself in our case, trying to make herself useful.”

 

“How so? Where's Spender?”

 

He shrugged, slouching back into the seat. “Apparently there was a journal that was found in his cell, prior to the escape and the sentencing hearing. She said it mentions past lives.”

 

Scully sat straighter in her chair and Mulder held up his hand, begging for silence before he could say anything else. “I didn't say anything about what we discussed. I promise that this will stay between us. But he may actually be schizophrenic. That might explain some of his actions.”

 

“What past lives thing?” a new voice asked.

 

Scully automatically stiffened as Mulder spun around. “Nothing, Diana. Why are you here?”

 

“There's been another killing.”

 

. . . .

 

I enjoyed chess in my last life, which I believe it was sometime in the 1920s. I've grown fond of it in this life. The trick is to draw out the queen. She is the most powerful player after all. Dana is the queen in all this. Draw her out, kill that damn traitor who took her from me. Make sure she knows she belongs to me.

 

By the way, I've lived many lives. Just not one.

 

He's smart though. I never would have thought he would come back as a profiler. So it is a fox hunt. I can laugh at my own cleverness. I don't mind killing both them. Really. The last time, I may have meant to do it, and then again, maybe I didn't. You just got to find out. But this time around, I am gonna do it. I'm doing them a favor in releasing them from their wretched existence. But the fun part is choosing who and how and drawing out my prey so I can have my queen.

 

. . . .

 

Norfolk, Virginia  
February 28, 1862

 

Mulder laughed as Scully brought down a picture from the bookcase. They sat together in the study on the same couch that they had sat on five nights ago previously. Except they were just talking like it was the most natural thing in the world. She gave him the aged photograph. “This is my family. I have two brothers and a sister,” she pointed to each one. “That's Bill, that's Charlie, that's Melissa. Oh, and that's my mother, and that's my father.”

 

“You weren't lying about around navy men all your life,” he said softly. “Are you the youngest?”

 

She shook her head. “No. Charlie is. I'm the third born.” She took back the photograph. “That is why I detest this war, one of the reasons, I miss my family.”

 

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I understand. I had a younger sister at one time. Samantha.”

 

“Had?”

 

“She vanished when I was twelve,” he shrugged. “When father died, shortly after her disappearance, we moved to North Carolina. She reappeared when I was at Virginia Military Institute. My mother sent for me. But she wasn't the same, not really. And then, like I said, she passed from fever a few years ago. My mother claimed it was a northern conspiracy. She was never found. I think...I think she wanted to make sure nothing else happened so I had to be the exemplary child.”

 

“I'm sorry,” Scully said softly. He suddenly seemed distant and withdrawn into himself. “Is that why you said you served because you were bound by duty?”

 

“Duty to the family I guess, duty to make my mother proud,” he shrugged. “I married Diana when I was 25, she was twenty. The marriage was not a happy one, as I said. She was miserable with me. She was fond of another young man, Johnathan I think his name was. But our marriage benefited her family with a boost in social status and it guaranteed a grandchild to my mother.”

 

“If I may be so bold, how did it happen?”

 

Mulder gazed gently at her, searching her eyes and seeing a genuine concern. It had been too long since someone gave a damn at him. The concern, it was welcoming, and around her, he felt an easiness he had not experienced since childhood. But the familiarity with which they spoke to one another was another mystery to him. He felt something come over him when he first glanced at her in the streets. Like he had met her before like he knew her.

 

“It was about eighteen months into our marriage when we discovered Diana was with child. My mother and her parents were exuberant. But her, I could tell she was unhappy. It was just another link in the chain binding her to me. During our marriage, we really never spoke. We just coexisted. I would often stay stationed with the army, grant her some respite.”

 

“What happened?”

 

“Seven years ago, so the winter of 1855, I was home on leave. It was Christmas. The timing was unexpected. Her water broke, we summoned the midwife. She was in labor for eight hours. She died giving childbirth. Bleed out. The baby's cord was around its neck, strangle it to death. It would have been a daughter.”

 

“That's horrible.”

 

He shrugged noncommittally. “Probably for best. They were finally free of a miserable existence with me. But enough about that. I'm tired of it. I've been the dutiful son and husband and soldier all my life.”

 

She nodded. “I'm sorry.”

 

“For what? I want to do what is right.” He looked at the locked study door. “That is why I agreed to do what I will do.”

 

“We're safe,” she said softly. “Martha is out doing errands. We have the house to ourselves and can talk freely.”

 

“No children?” he asked wearily.

 

“None of my own. I have nine step-children from my husband.”

 

“Nine!” Mulder coughed.

 

She shrugged. “I just...I never wanted children. I've read of ways...to make sure that does not happen. You must think me vile.”

 

“No,” he said. “I'm amazed. To understand medical texts and spy trickery. What else do you not know? Your intelligence is incredible.”

 

She gave a small smile, tucking a loose piece of red hair behind her ear. “I wanted to be a doctor when I was younger, but at 17, I was engaged to be married to Franklin. I did not have much say in the matter.”

 

“I wish I could know everything,” he blurted out. She looked up in surprise and both chuckled. “I apologize for my bluntness.”

 

“No! No, it is comforting to be me among someone else. With you, Mister Mulder, I can talk freely with you and you listen,” she exclaimed, “and treat me like...”

 

“An equal,” he smiled.

 

“I did not want to be presumptuous, but yes.” He gave her a sly smile. She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner. “But, as much as I would like for this to continue, we need to get down to business. I fear our time is limited. I know you must report for duty tomorrow at noon.”

 

“I am in no rush, Scully.”

 

She gave a small nod. “My brother Charlie approached me shortly before the end of the year. My marriage to Franklin is no secret. But his latest commission came as a surprise to Union intelligence.”

 

“The Virginia.”

 

“Yes. The Union is building their own, the Monitor.”

 

“I've heard the rumors.”

 

“I'm in a position to ascertain...certain information.”

 

“Movements for instance,” he said after a moment, “schematics, weaknesses? The Union blockade makes things undoubtedly harder for their resources. But the ship is seaworthy. So they say. I know what you want. I used to work in intelligence before this commission.”

 

“I'm glad I took the chance with you. I have a feeling,” she paused, “things will be happening soon.” She glanced down at the couch and then back at him. “The method I used to contact you the other day, the brick? That will be the drop point.”

 

“Who retrieves the messages?”

 

“That doesn't matter, Mulder. The less you know, the better.What matters is the mission. I need you to feed me any information you can get. You told me you used to be military intelligence with the Union. You know what to look for, I don't. I am trusting you,” she said urgently. “I can make sure Franklin stays unknowing and the information goes to the right channels.”

 

“What if I am sea bound?”

 

“Then we'll make it work,” she said confidently. “I'll think of something.”

 

“You haven't fully thought it through, have you?” He gave a smile small at her. 

 

“No,” she admitted after a second, “I took a risk with you at my birthday and it worked out. I normally tend to plan things. I rarely take chances. But I can figure it out. But the opportunity presented itself with you and I took it. Carpe diem as the Romans would say.”

 

“Seize the day indeed,” he chuckled. Mulder rested his hand against his mouth in thought and looked up at her. “I do not know what has come over of me as of late. I used to trust no one. Rely on no one. And now, like magic, there is you. And suddenly, I am bearing my soul to a stranger.”

 

“Not even your own comrades?”

 

“You see how they treat me? Just look at the dinner party. The captain only puts up with me because of you. Frankly, I was surprised by this morning. You're my saving grace.”

 

“I wouldn't go that far, Mulder,” she said softly. “Are you certain you want to do this with me? Once we begin this endeavor, there is no going back.”

 

“Need you even ask?” He gave her a warm, comforting smile. “I believe is was a young Prince Hal who became a king and said, 'Once more unto the breech, my dear friends once more.'”

 

She found strength and comfort in his faith and nodded with a smile of her own.

 

. . . .

 

Oceanfront  
Virginia Beach, Virginia  
December 14, 1998

 

“Scully.”

 

The ocean wiped up violent, blowing Scully's red hair all over her face as she blinked out of her thoughts. She tried to shield herself from Mulder's tall form as they stood over the dead body half buried in the sand. She could see a crowd gathered on the boardwalk, the local police keeping the growing crowd back. She looked to the local detective and asked, “When was the body discovered?”

 

The detective, a young man with brown hair and blue eyes, eyed her and asked, “And you are?”

 

“We're Agents Scully and Mulder,” she said gesturing to herself and her partner as they revealed their badges.

 

“I remember you. You were in the papers the other day! The guys who caught Buckley the first time around.”

 

“That's us,” Mulder said. He squatted down and started to inspect the body.

 

“Are you qualified to do that,” the detective said.

 

“I am. I'm a medical doctor and forensic pathologist,” Scully answered, snapping on the latex gloves. She knelt next to Mulder, inwardly groaning at her choice to wear her booted heels in the sand. She nodded the body. “What do you think, Mulder?”

 

“He isn't searching anymore,” he whispered to her, just so Scully could hear.

 

She met his eyes at the same time ASAC Benson came on the scene. “Agent Scully, anything sticking out to you?”

 

“I haven't had time to examine that body much,” she began, reading Mulder's eyes, “Agent Mulder and I think he is trying to draw us out. I might be able to tell you more after the autopsy.”

 

ASAC Benson sighed and rubbed his brows. “The press and public will love this. Mulder, stick with her. See if you can't develop your profile more.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Mulder said quickly, briefly grazing Scully's arm.

 

“While I have you here,” Benson said after a thought, “you two ran the x-files division right?”

 

Scully got up from kneeling and glanced at him. She felt the comforting pressure of his hand across the small of her lower back. “Yes, sir. We did for five years.”

 

We. What had changed since their argument that morning? What was going on? “What do you know about this Fowley?” She glanced at him, curious about his own answer. “She's talking about past lives or something?”

 

“That was the point of the x-files,” he said, “to find alternative approaches to cases. We caught him when we originally investigated mysterious deaths.” What was he doing, she thought. “But as to past lives, Agent Scully and I encountered no such thing. He is just a murderer, plain and simple. I personally see no reason for her continued involvement.”

 

“Are you certain?” Benson asked. “Her expertise...”

 

“She's been in Europe for the past few years working on a terrorism detail. I hardly see how her expertise is relevant here.”

 

Why was he not defending her to SAC Benson? What the hell was going on?

 

“Your honest opinion, Mulder?”

 

“Scully and I got this,” he said confidently.

 

He nodded shortly and left them. She arched her eyes and met his. “What just happened, Mulder?”

 

“We're partners, you're my best friend,” he simply answered with a shrug, adding 'I love you' mentally, “I always got your back.”

 

“Even after this morning?”

 

“We'll figure it out,” he said softly. “These past lives bull shit and Buckley.”

 

“Even with Diana.”

 

“I trust her, Scully,” he answered after a long moment. “But I trust you more. I even got the scar to prove it.”

 

She gave a small smile. “Mulder. Thank you.”

 

He bumped his forehead against hers uncharacteristically. “I got your back, Scully. No worries.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More flashbacks into the past. A battle. More confusion.

Gosport Shipyard  
Portsmouth, Virginia  
March 7, 1862

 

Mulder and Scully had communicated with each via letter a few times now since their last in-person meeting. He started supplying her with simple things, such as orders and troop numbers, but there still had been nothing of great value except the letters itself. Their correspondence had grown more personal in nature, something he had not expected. He thought he was supposed to keep it impersonal. While he kept the sensitive information coded, like he had been taught, they begin to speak of familiar things...addressing each other in the letters simply as M. and S. She spoke of her hopes after the war, seeing her family again, maybe filing for divorce if she could find a valid reason, and what she loved and read. He spoke of his childhood, his fondness of books and mysteries, and his hopes for the war's end. In each other, without meaning to or realizing it, they had found a confident within each other and a growing trust. The trust seemed like it had been built over years, decades even, instead of a few short days. The sensation he had met her too before the dinner party was growing in the back of his mind as well.

 

Since he had reported for duty that past Monday, the CSS Virginia still remained in dry dock and he was still in his barracks. He opened his most recent letter she had written him and read it carefully to his self. He was the only one in the barracks at the moment. The rest of the officers had gone to a local tavern to enjoy themselves that evening. He jumped when he heard someone knocking lightly on the door. Nervously, he tucked the folded letter under the pillow, got up and opened it a crack and when he saw Scully wearing a cloak with the hood drawn. He instinctively grabbed her hand and pulled her into the barracks, god forbid anyone sees her.

 

“Scully,” he hissed, grabbing her arm, “what the hell are you doing here? Coming in the middle of the night? I thought we both agreed that we would never meet in person like this.”

 

“I needed to come, Mulder,” she retorted, ignoring his anger and stepping past him. “It couldn't wait.”

 

“Why?” he asked desperately. He shut teh door. “We both agreed not to meet if this arrangement was to work.”

 

 

She took the opportunity to glance around the barracks. “Is this where you stay?”

 

“When I'm not on the ship? Yes. But that still doesn't answer my question. Stop changing the subject”

 

“Which one is your cot?”

 

He pointed towards his bed absently and shook his head. “Scully! Quit distracting me.”

 

She took a moment to pull back the blankets, inspect his shell jacket, his officer saber, his kepi, and his personal effects, noting the lack of pictures. She kept running her fingers over his things with such familiarity. Mulder ran his own fingers through his hair, clearly flustered. “I'm sorry,” she said softly. “I had a dream the other night. I needed to reassure myself of your well being.”

 

“What dream?”

 

“I dreamed you had died. I saw you die and there was nothing I could do about it.”

 

“Since when do you care about my well being?” His voice softened. “I'm no one, remember. Just a soldier. I'm just convenient to your cause.”

 

“You aren't just a soldier,” she spat. “And it’s our cause, Mulder. Are we safe here?”

 

“For a bit, yes. Scully, why are you here? Do you know the danger that you are putting yourself in? I would die if something happened to you because of me.”

 

“I'm sorry,” she said softly again. She relaxed and looked at him finally. “But that dream was horrible. And it seemed so real, like a memory.”

 

“Nothing's happened to me,” he soothed. “I'm right here. Nothing's happened.”

 

“No.” She took a deep breath. “It was from a different time. I don't know. Maybe it is my imagination lead astray. But I just needed to reassure myself of your well being. I needed to see you”

 

He gave a feeble smile. “I'm touched, Scully. I really am. But you need to go. I won't risk you putting yourself in danger anymore.”

 

“You sound so silly,” she chuckled softly. “I just feel like something is about to happen soon. A feeling. I just want you to be careful. The information that you have provided has been invaluable, but I still worry. I want us to continue working in the future.”

 

“As an asset or a friend?”

 

“Friend,” she answered quickly. “We're friends. I think.” She chuckled to herself. “Forgive me. I acted without thinking. Just promise me, Mulder, promise me you will be careful.”

 

He nodded slightly. “I promise.”

 

“You know,” she paused after a moment, “I wear my brooch every day since you've given it to me.”

 

“A bit quick to be rushing it, don't you think? And you, a married woman,” he teased.

 

Her lips quirked into a weak smile, recognizing his wit and the warmth of his concern. “I wanted...I wanted to give you something in return. That's another reason why I came.”

 

“Scully,” he admonished softly. “Please, you don't have to.”

 

“No, no. I just...” From her pocket, she withdrew a beautiful rosary and pressed it into his hand. He tried to give it back. “No. No. Keep it.” She pressed it into his hands. “Please, Mulder.”

 

He squeezed the warm beads and glanced down the intricate blue and silver rosary. “I can't take this.”

 

“You can and you will.” She clasped both of their hands together, the rosary nestled between it. “That morning you went to mass with me, it felt like everything changed. I know you don't prize religion but your openness of mind and heart was most welcoming. Most would cast it from their mind and my silly inclinations.”

 

“Having faith is not a silly inclination,” he said softly. “I was honored to go. I enjoyed your company very much but the sermon was a little dry.”

 

Scully giggled. For some reason, it felt right. He could not describe it, the feeling the ache that was welling in his chest. It was so deep. “For you, just this once,” he whispered. He instinctively tried to make light of this situation. “You know, this is the sort of token a girl should give to her dandy.”

 

“Well,” she replied after a moment, “maybe I have. Promise me you'll be safe, Mulder.”

 

“I will,” he promised.

 

They both could hear the drunken laughter of the other officers heading towards the barracks. “I better go,” she whispered, bowing her head.

 

He did not know why this stranger, this woman, elected this response from him. He felt like he had known her all his life. He bowed his head as well, resting their forehead against one another. “It will be okay, Scully. I promise.”

 

She gave a weak smile and nodded. “Be safe, Mulder, for me.”

 

“I promise.”

 

She broke away suddenly, drawing up her hood. She gave a sad smile and disappeared out the back door. He glanced down the rosary in his hands. Carefully he untangled the delicate symbol and placed it around his neck, hiding it under his shirt so no one would see it. She would always be close. He could not even begin to try and explain it. His friend. His partner.

 

. . . .

 

Elizabeth River  
Norfolk, Virginia  
March 8, 1862

 

Scully awoke to the sounds of cheering. She rushed outside, still wearing her dress from the night before, and saw the crowds. The home that she lived in had a lovely view of the Elizabeth River. She loved to sit in the window and watch the ships pass under the glow of the sunsets. But this morning, she saw her husband's ship and civilians lining the shore cheering them on. She also saw some of the officers and civilian workmen still aboard but she could hear the faint beating of a drum and hear her own husband's small voice yelling.

 

“Sailors, in a few minutes you will have the long looked opportunity of showing your devotion to our cause. Remember that you are about to strike for your country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every man to do his duty. Beat to quarters! The whole world is watching you today!”

 

Her eyes widened. She would have guessed this would be CSS Virginia's sea trials, but she knew how narcissistic her husband was. She had heard his speech. He intended to go straight into war.

 

. . . .

 

Coroner's Office  
Virginia Beach, Virginia  
December 15, 1998

 

Scully rolled her neck and snapped off her gloves, hearing her neck pop and crack. She gazed at the body she had just sliced and diced, silently bemoaning the report she still had to write and how badly her muscles were protesting. Scully had not slept the night before. Those dreams that had plagued her for the past couple nights had to continue, finding no respite. She tossed and turned, tried to read, watched tv. She ended up staying up talking to Mulder when she finally drifted off to sleep sometime around three am only to be promptly woken at six am.

 

She heard multiple footsteps squeaking along the well-polished floors of the coroner's office as she turned to gaze at the door. ASAC Benson came in, Mulder and Diana and some unnamed agent trailing behind him. Inwardly, she groaned, not ready to deal with Diana this early in the morning. “Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson greeted, “did you find anything?”

 

“Well,” she began, turning towards them. “I still have yet to write my report. But the victim was strangled, then stabbed postmortem. Sixteen stab wounds in all. I still have yet to hear back from the labs on any forensic evidence but I doubt if that is any help.”

 

“What were the other bodies like?” Benson asked.

 

“Tortured, shot in the chest, and finally in the head,” she recalled.

 

“And now he strangles?” Diana mused.

 

God, the sound of her voice, Scully groaned inwardly, like nails on the chalkboard. “Well, the guards were strangled,” she shrugged. “Maybe he's developed a taste for it. I don't know. This killing was done with precision and I did lift one of his fingerprints from her body, so we know it's him.”

 

“Agent Mulder,” the ASAC looked at her partner.

 

“Hm? I need time,” he murmured, looking at the body.

 

“Well, if anyone can do it, I'm sure you can, Fox.” Diana gave him a warm smile.

 

He glanced at her quickly before focusing back on the body. “Scully, did you find anything else? Anything helpful?” he asked her.

 

“No,” she said.

 

“Well,” Benson sighed, “it looks like we need to go to the public.”

 

“Draw him out?” Diana said. “Won't that make him run?”

 

“No,” Mulder sighed after a moment. “It will make him find more of a challenge in it. He's a narcissistic bastard. I would do it, but be vague. Just mention this murder.”

 

“Fowley, with me,” Benson said. “You can help on this.”

 

The other three left except Mulder who gave Scully a weak smile. She returned it and nodded towards the door. “Ever since you said something to Benson, I can't help find great pleasure that Diana has been regulated to his personal assistant. I suppose I should thank you?”

 

“She isn't that bad, Scully,” he said softly. “And I really do think she could help us with our problem.”

 

“Mulder, you know I don't trust her!”

 

“I know, that is why I haven't said anything to her,” he said, “and kind forced her off out of our hair. The last thing you need to freak out about that.”

 

Scully gave a small smile, her cheeks blushing. Small things like that were not rare for Mulder, even though he always had her interests at heart, he still made her blush. “Well, thank you nonetheless.”

 

He nodded towards the body. “I need to get back to the field office to work on my profile. Wanna tag along?”

 

“I have to finish up here,” she replied.

 

He nodded. “Wanna break for a late lunch later then? We can talk about your dreams last night.”

 

She nodded slightly. “That'd be nice.”

 

“You seem more grounded today,” he said as an afterthought.

 

“Hm. Maybe it is just the lack of caffeine or maybe it's the recent company.”

 

He smiled and gave her arm a quick squeeze before he left. She sighed again, glancing at the body and then frowning at the thought of writing that report.

 

. . . .

 

CSS Virginia  
Elizabeth River en route to Sewell's Point  
March 8, 1862

 

Mulder felt claustrophobic. The iron siding enclosing the ship made the world seem smaller. A young sailor glanced at him and chuckled softly. “Nervous, Lieutenant?”

 

“Just a wee bit,” he confessed.

 

“Why don't you go above deck and get yourself some air?”

 

He nodded despite himself and climbed above deck. The cold air was biting as he watched the coastline pass them by. A young naval officer smacked him on the back and smiled in greeting. “How you holding, army boy?”

 

“Hanging in there,” he nodded. “Marines are doing well.”

 

“Glad to hear it.” The young officer leaned against the railing. “Can you believe the captain? Today was supposed to be just sea trials but the eager bastard is hell-bent on confronting the Union blockade today.”

 

“Why, Evans?” Mulder blurted, despite himself. “I heard the onlookers when we left Portsmouth. 'Go on with your old metallic coffin!'”

 

“I'm sure we'll be fine. The Virginia will prove herself seaworthy. We'll go down in history that is for sure. Technology is changing, that's for sure.”

 

Mulder touched his chest briefly, feeling the rosary beneath his jacket. “We are just an experiment,” he muttered.

 

“Nothing can sink Old Ironsides!”

 

He chuckled. “Is that the captain or our ship?”

 

“The ship of course, but we might as well call the captain that, stubborn as he is,” Evans grinned.

 

They could hear the drum picking up as the Union blockade came into view. They saw the ships, the Union sailors white laundry hanging from the sails. “We better get below deck,” Evans muttered. “Where will you be during all this?”

 

“The top gun deck,” Mulder answered. “Marines can't do much while sailing but I do know my way around a cannon.”

 

“Good man,” Evans nodded. “Let's go get those Yankee bastards.”

 

They disappeared below deck, Mulder's chest growing heavier the doubt and anxiety. He did not want to fight his true country. He did not want to be here.

 

. . . .

 

Captain Buchanan stood in the pilot house with his helmsman. “There, Jones!” He pointed out the small port window excitedly towards the USS Cumberland, a Union frigate. “That's our first target. Here we make history, men!”

 

The executive officer nodded. “Aye, sir. Helmsman, full speed! Ensign Edwards, belay the order to open fire!”

 

“Aye, aye, sir!” the young ensign echoed and disappeared.

 

Captain Buchanan clapped his hands enthusiastically as he heard his ship's cannons began their first explosions. Here he was, making history! Everyone would remember him and his ship! He could see it now! President Davis would congratulate him personally. He would be made an admiral. Admiral of the Fleet. That had a nice ring to it, Admiral Buchanan.

 

“Sir!” the executive officer cried in alarm. “Sir! We need to break course!”

 

“No, full speed ahead! Ram that ship!”

 

The helmsman looked nervously at the other officer and he nodded grimly. “Full speed ahead then,” he said softly.

 

“Aye, aye, sir,” he mumbled as his shaking hands gripped the helm tighter.

 

The CSS Virginia rammed into the Cumberland's starboard side with guns blazing. In the excitement, the ironclad was almost unable to free itself, barely escaping its own fate of sinking with the doomed ship. The captain was ecstatic at his ships first victory! “Seaworthy indeed!” he bellowed. “Helmsman, take us to the James River. We'll confront those Yanks head on!”

 

. . . .

 

The cannon fire was deafening for Mulder. He could not think. He could not breathe. But still his body kept functioning. The ringing would not go away. He was covered in soot, his hands ached from helping load cannons. His voice was hoarse from shouting orders over the cannon fire. Briefly, he touched his chest, once again feeling the rosary. He was going to make it out of this. He had to.

 

. . . .

 

The CSS Virginia steamed along, finally reach Sewell's Point and the Union blockade. Unlike the Cumberland, the rest of the Union ships, they were ready. They opened fired and the Virginia returned the lolly. The siege of the USS Congress for two whole hours, neither side giving in. But finally, the Congress surrendered herself. Then the Union batteries at Fort Monroe began to fire on ironclad.

 

. . . .

 

“Damn Yanks!” Captain Buchanan bellowed. He grabbed a rifle from a nearby marine and stormed up to the deck. “Fire on my ship will you? I'll show you!”

 

Among the cannon fire, Buchanan's rifle could be heard firing. A couple of marines joined him uselessly on deck, firing their own rifles. He ordered the marines to set the Congress aflame. Then a stray shell landed against the Virginia and shrapnel landed into his thigh. The marines quickly took their captain below deck.

 

“Damn it to hell!” he bellowed. “Jones, take the command! And someone fetch me that marine lieutenant! On the double!”

 

A young marine nodded quickly and went to find Mulder on the top gun deck, supervising his marines and the sailors. “Sir,” he said breathlessly, “the captain...the captain requests your presence.”

 

“Can't the damn fool see I'm busy?”

 

“Sir, he was wounded.”

 

“How bad?”

 

“I don't know. His thigh?”

 

Mulder rolled his eyes, leaving the gun deck and heading to the surgeon's quarters. He found Captain Buchanan snarling like an angry dog at the surgeon, who was more than annoyed. “Captain,” the doctor said, “I can't very well treat you if you don't sit still.”

 

“You won't be taking my leg, damn you!”

 

“I'm not taking your leg, for god's sake, man! Stop fussing like a child! It is just a flesh wound!”

 

“Sir,” Mulder interrupted, “you needed to see me?”

 

“Yes, yes,” he grunted. “You. You are to make sure nothing happens to my wife, understand?”

 

“Sir?” What the hell was the captain going on about?

 

“You keep an eye on her, you hear?”

 

“Jesus, you aren't dying!” The surgeon yelled.

 

“Promise me, lieutenant.”

 

“Why me?”

 

“Because you're her pet. I don't know! Jesus, get that saw away from me, you devil!”

 

The surgeon threw his hands up in surrender and when to get a bottle of whiskey. “Drink,” he ordered, fisting the bottle towards him.

 

“Lieutenant, promise me!” Captain Buchanan yelled.

 

“Aye, aye, sir,” he said hesitantly.

 

. . . .

 

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 15, 1998

 

His phone was ringing. Mulder blinked himself out of a daze and shifted the files in front of him uselessly trying to find his phone. His ears were ringing like a loud explosion had just gone off next to him. He shook his head, trying to clear it. But the ringing. His phone.

 

“Mulder.”

 

“Mulder, it's me.”

 

“Scully,” he said softly. “Everything okay?”

 

“Everything's fine.”

 

“Everything?”

 

“Everything, me included. I can't make that late lunch. Something else here came up with the victim.”

 

“That's okay. Do you want me to swing by and pick you up when you're done?”

 

“No. Just go back to the hotel. I don't know how long this will take.”

 

“Okay. Scully, call me if you need anything.”

 

“I'm fine, Mulder. I promise.”

 

He rubbed his chest, an itching sensation near his heart. “Okay, well just let me know. I'll see you later tonight.”

 

“Count on it.”

 

She hung up and he buried his face in his hands. His profile was at a standstill and his mind elsewhere.

 

. . . .

 

CSS Virginia  
James River, Virginia  
March 9, 1862

 

In a hammock, Mulder fingered the rosary he wore, the day replaying itself in his mind. The battle was still fresh and it kept replaying itself over and over. He could hear the cannon fire. He gazed at his right hand as it shook slightly. He had experienced battles before. But something about naval warfare, being stuck on a ship, being unable to run anywhere. He felt trapped.

 

But now it was quiet and he had time to reflect.

 

Scully. Why did his thoughts keep drifting to her? The familiar ache in his chest came back as he continued to fiddle with the rosary around his neck. Did she have prophetic dreams? Was she a seer? Mulder rubbed his face, trying to erase the thoughts and drowsiness he felt. He had been having weird dreams lately, ever since he met her. Dreams of a different time, different places. She was always there. Like two halves. But he was brought out of his daydreaming by shouting.

 

“What is going on?” he called.

 

“Damn yanks! The got their own iron ship!” one of his marines yelled.

 

He quickly went to the top deck, rifle in hand with a handful of marines. Below he could hear the cannons firing, the shells uselessly bouncing off the rotating turret. He had never seen anything like it. He thought the ironclad was an amazing technological feat, this tiny little ironclad (which paled in contrast to CSS Virginia) and its rotating turret. “Look for a target,” he yelled to his men.

 

It was a useless feat. They could find no targets.

 

. . . .

 

For two hours the ships fired uselessly at each until the Confederate vessel ceased fire all together as they ran low on gunpowder. Lieutenant Jones, the executive officer and now captain, had to think of something. He ordered the ship into line. He was going to ram the Monitor. But the tiny little union ironclad was able to maneuver away before there could be any impact. Time elapsed. Jones needed to leave, replenish the stores and repair the vessel. No one had won that battle.

 

. . . .

 

Gosport Shipyard  
Portsmouth, Virginia  
March 9, 1862

 

Mulder was glad to be back on land. Experiencing another naval battle was not something he desired to do again. As soon as they were back on land, the captain had been whisked away for medical attention. The shipyard works set about repairing the vessel's damage. The marines and sailor returned to their barracks for some much-needed rest. It was near midnight when a field medic came for him.

 

“What's this all about,” Mulder murmured.

 

“The captain wants to talk to you.”

 

“Why?”

 

“I'm just following orders, sir.”

 

Mulder grumbled as he pulled on his jacket and followed the young medic to the infirmary. He saw his captain in the lamplight, sitting in bed pensively. His wrinkled face was frumpish. Mulder ran his fingers through his hair in a last minuted attempt to look decent. “Sir,” he called softly. “You desired to speak to me?”

 

The captain trained his gaze at the lieutenant. “What was your name again, soldier?”

 

“Mulder, sir,” he said.

 

“Mulder,” Captain Buchanan repeated softly. “I said some things on the ship.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“I made a request to you.”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“I understand the peculiar nature of the request,” he said, lingering over the word 'peculiar' as it rolled off his tongue.

 

“I remember.”

 

“You are an honorable man, aren't you, lieutenant?”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Do you have a wife at home?”

 

“I'm a widower,” Mulder replied uneasily, wondering where the conversation was going. “My wife died in childbirth about seven years back.”

 

“You're a father then.”

 

“Would have been. My daughter died as well in childbirth.”

 

Captain Buchanan shook his head. “I have nine myself, from my first wife. She passed unexpectedly. Dana...I wish she would bear a child but it seems there is something wrong with her. We've seen doctors and all assure me she is perfectly normal.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Anyways, they are going to send me to Richmond for a time as I heal from this. Then elsewhere” He waved uselessly at his wounded thigh. “Doctor says a change of environment will do me good.”

 

Mulder felt his heart stop. What about the whole mission?

 

“But,” Captain Buchanan droned on, “Dana is to remain here. However, I need someone to hold her accountable.”

 

“She is more than capable herself, sir.”

 

“Nonsense. Her head is in the clouds. She just needs a bit of moral guidance. Which,” he said, gazing at Mulder, “where I desire your help.”

 

“Help, sir?”

 

“Dana needs a firm hand. A male guardian to look after her interests. You are the one who is going to do that while I am away. I’m transferring you to the war office in Norfolk. I believe your background before that was in stragey and planning battles?”

 

“Yes, sir, but e?”

 

“I need to go elsewhere to recover from my wound. Then there are some damn grand plans for me.” Captain Buchanan waved his hands and glanced at Mulder in thought. “You were a husband once. You know what is expected of a wife. Their place is in the home. Her head is in the clouds and her nose buried in books. You're a marine too. Maybe you can straighten her out with that discipline.”

 

He bit his lip to keep from replying.

 

“Regardless, I am changing your orders. You'll be stationed here and check in on my wife periodically while I recover.”

 

“Sir? Can you actually do that?”

 

“I can do what I damn well please. After the other day, I'm a hero. Do you understand your new orders?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

He nodded. “Dismissed.”

 

Mulder briefly shot to attention and left, unable to believe his luck. What were the odds. He was already composing his next message. 'S.- You will never believe the odds...'


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the past, things are changing. In the present, Mulder and Scully go out to dinner.

Norfolk, Virginia  
December 15, 1998

Scully sat crossed legged on the center of her hotel bed wearing jeans, an old University of Maryland hoodie, and her glasses. In front of her, she had case notes, autopsy files, and toxicology reports spread out around her like a sea. On her knee was a notebook and a pen that she held, bouncing it up and down on the college ruled lines in thought. Her mind was everywhere and she could not focus. Memories of a different lifetime and the unsettling memories of the past couple days. She pinched her nose and pushed the glasses to rest on top of her head.

None of this made sense. Seriously, how many times had she repeated that statement since coming down here? How many times had she read the same reports in front of her? She felt like she was being torn into two separate people but she was ultimately still the same person. Unconsciously, she did not notice her hand holding the pen begin to move unconsciously. She was brought out of her thoughts by a light knocking on her hotel room door. She pushed the notebook off her knee and swam through the sea of files to the edge of the bed.

“What? You not dressed?” came an amusing voice from the other side.

She smiled slightly at the familiar teasing and opened the door. “I could not decide what shirt to wear for you.”

Mulder smiled at Scully and wordless walked into her room without invitation. “I dig the UMD shirt. Supporting the old alumni?”

“Yep,” she replied. Scully shut the door softly behind her, noticing Mulder had found her sea of files. “I was just trying to do some thinking.”

“Thinking? Is that what you call it? It looks more like you were trying to drown yourself in information. Quite literally. What is all this?”

“I was trying to get a clue.”

“A clue?”

“An idea. Anything. With all this,” she replied, waving her hand at the side of her head.

Mulder looked at her in surprise. “You, Dana Scully, are actually entertaining the idea of a past life? My, my, haven't the tables turned.”

She shrugged uselessly. “I have nothing else to go on. How do explain what is going on?”

Mulder silently surveyed the files and picked up the notebook that she had been doodling on. His eyes read over the script somehow recognizing it. “Scully, did you write this?”

She arched her eyebrow cautiously. “Write what?”

She took the notepad and read the flowing script. “Mulder, this isn't my handwriting. You know what my handwriting looks like.”

He squinted at it, bringing the notepad closer for inspection. “It sort of looks like yours,” he mused, “if you took a calligraphy course. But it is still your handwriting. But the message...I recognize it. I've seen it before. I feel like I wrote it to you and then gave it to you.”

Scully read the note quickly as it described how their meetings need to be more constant and something about troop movements and Union lines. “Mulder, I don't know what this is. It's probably nothing.”

“I wouldn't call this nothing. I've seen it before,” he said. “I'm positive, Scully. I just don't know where.” He sighed and took the notebook and tossed it onto the bed, his eyes lingering on it heavily. “Try not to think about it right now, Scully. We still have dinner.”

“How can we have dinner at a time like this when there is a crazed murderer out there?” she asked softly.

“Because you are overworking yourself. You're running yourself into the ground. Ever since these dreams started, you're stretching yourself thin,” he said softly. She opened her mouth to reply but he cut her off. “Don't say 'I'm fine' too. I know you're not. We both know.”

She closed her mouth and her eyes. “I can't seem to focus,” she admitted softly. She closed her eyes. “Everything is just so...cloudy.” Scully opened her eyes and gazed at her partner. “You think I'm crazy.”

“Maybe a little air will do you good,” Mulder suggested and changed the subject. “Let's go to dinner. This will be here when we get back. The front desk lady was telling me about this seafood restaurant by Chic's Beach, like literally right on the beach, and we can see the Chesapeake Bay Bridge Tunnel at night.”

“I swear you are trying to romance me,” she mused softly. She took off her glasses and got her jacket. “All this food. Or you want something. Or maybe you are planning to ditch me for an alien corpse again.”

He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “I would never...well, at any rate, I promise to take you with me if I did. Anyways, I know the way to your heart is to your stomach. Just like mine. Usually, it's chocolate, but tonight, it's steak and fresh seafood..”

“Or you're just trying to make me fat. What happened to smart is sexy, Mulder?”

“Fat or not,” he shrugged. “I like you just the way you are, sexy smartness included.”

She chuckled and with a roll of her eyes, they left to go to dinner.

 

. . . .

 

Norfolk, Virginia  
April 15, 1862

 

As was the tradition when he finished up his day in the war office, Mulder walked the streets of Free Mason and jogged lightly up the steps to the familiar brick house before he lightly knocked on the door. The door opened slightly and the maid, Martha, smiled in greeting. “Lieutenant, it is a pleasure to see you,” she said.

“You as well, Miss Martha,” he said, bowing slightly and kissing her hand, causing the old servant to blush. “Is Mrs. Buchanan in?”

“Yes, sir. She is expecting you. She is up in the study. May I take your coat?”

“Yes, please.” He took off the long overcoat and passed it to her. “Thank you, ma'am.”

She laughed. “You are such a charmer, Lieutenant Mulder! May I say, sir, it is rather noble of you to watch over the captain's wife during his absence.”

“Oh, yes,” he answered absently. He took a deep breath, smiling a soup from the kitchen. “It smells amazing in here.”

“Oh, thank you, sir! My mother's own personal recipe for beef stew!”

“Sounds wonderful.”

“Shall I announce you're arrival.”

“No, no. I much prefer to surprise her. Mrs. Buchanan is expecting me after all.”

 

. . . .

 

Scully sat at her writing desk in the study and read the correspondence from her mother sadly. Her father was ill and had come home from sea. Bill was somewhere in Europe. Melissa somewhere in Paris. Charlie, Mama Scully did not know where her baby boy was. Scully was the last one to have contact with him the year before when he had set up for the spy network for Dana. And now, Dana was the only child she was able to reach out to and count still alive. She was so absorbed in her reading, she failed to hear the door open as Mulder entered and called her name out softly. “Scully, you still awake?” he teased softly.

She jumped and clutched the letter to her chest. “Mulder!” She hastily placed the letter down and got up and forced a smile. “I was not expecting you for at least another hour.”

“I was able to leave the war office early,” he said softly, watching her. “I'm sorry for startling you. It was not my intention. I managed to bring the information you requested.”

“What information,” she asked distractedly. He pulled a small folded paper from his shell jacket and placed it on the desk in front of her. She opened it immediately as her eyes raked over the information. “How the hell did you managed to sneak this out?”

“I am a man of many talents,” he said softly, tapping his temple. “Photographic memory and that is only the beginnings of it. My newest post allows access to so much from navel information to troop movements. This is what I did before being forced to join the marines. I guess I should thank your husband for ordering me to be your moral compass during his absence.”

“A blessing in disguise in more ways than one.” She looked at him questioningly. “Is it true he cried like a child?”

“Where did you hear that?”

She flashed him a pleasing smile. “I have my ways,” she teased. “But tell me, Mulder, is it?”

“He cried on the ship. He was a bit more...somber once back on land.” He gave a weak smile. “I would not necessarily say that but he was a bit overly dramatic.”

“He acted childishly,” she smirked.

“A bit.”

She smiled at him as they shared a quiet moment together. Gently she took his hand and squeezed it. “It's so good to see you again, Mulder, I've missed you and I appreciate the constant company now. Franklin was suffocating as a husband and I loved it when he was away.”

“That does not sound like the mark of a happy marriage,” he replied dryly.

“The marriage is anything but happy. I've told you how unhappy I am with Franklin, Mulder. More than anything, it is convenient, for him and for my family. The man is almost thirty years old than myself,” she sighed. “If I were to have his child, not only would I be legally bound to him, I would be bringing a child into a loveless family. I could never do that, Mulder.”

“Would you ever want a child?” he asked softly, the conversation taking a turn to towards a more intimate, personal nature.

“Of course,” she confessed after a long moment. She smiled, a little flustered by the line of questioning.“But only if I could raise it properly. I have no identity with my husband, I have no money, I have nothing without him. To him, I’m expected to run the household and be the upstanding step-mother to his other nine children, not that I have anything against them. I’m just so unhappy around him. If only you could understand! Talking to you, Mulder, is like a breath of fresh air. I am someone in your eyes. I have a voice. I'm a person to you.” She stopped herself. “I apologize. Are you hungry?”

“Don’t ever apologize,” he said softly. “You never have to apologize to me. And you are more than just a person to me, Scully.”

Scully chuckled lightly. “Well obviously, you don’t know me very well.”

“I would like to,” he replied, hesitating, “if you would let me.”

She was caught off guard by the intimacy of his comment. She brushed off the statement by ignoring it completely. She still questioned why she had gone to his barracks on the eve of the ironclad battle and what had possessed her to give him that rosary. It was a whim, a flight of fancy, she rarely let herself indulge in. Neither one of them brought up that night again although she did catch glimpses of the blue crystal rosary beneath his uniform jacket. “We’re just partners,” she said dismissively.

“Just partners,” he repeated, leaning against the desk. “I like to indulge in the thought we are more. Friends? Our letters over the past month or so indicate a little more than just partners, or at the very least friends.”

“I am a married woman,” she whispered.

“I am not contesting that,” he said, taking a deep breath, “or even suggesting it, Scully. We work together, yes? What is a partnership if it does not have trust?”

“I trust you,” she defended. “I trust you with my life. I trust you not to betray me and I know you expect likewise from me.”

“But to truly trust someone, it must be completely, especially in this case.”

“What is the line of this questioning, Mulder? Why are you pursuing this?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “I cannot trust the men I survive and serve with. I do not trust my own family. For so long it has just been me. I need someone to trust. We need to completely trust each other if this arrangement is to fully benefit.”

“Why have you grown so formal with me all of a sudden,” she cried. He was silent as he looked out the window in thought. “Mulder?”

“Someone came by today,” he said slowly. “He was not in uniform with nothing distinguishing about him. He was inquiring about your husband and yourself. Nothing out of the ordinary it seemed but he found it peculiar that the captain’s wife was not with him while he is recovering from his thigh wound. His name was Krychek. Alexandar Krychek.”

“What on Earth is he talking about? I’ve spent years away from Franklin.” She got up and paced slightly. “Did he ask you anything?”

Mulder shook his head no slowly. “No, however, I do not want an instance to arise where we are caught at a disadvantage. I do not suspect he knows anything but we never know. That is why we need to be completely honest with each other, no matter what.”

“I told you, I trust you with my life,” she defended.

“As I do with mine, but, Scully, do you trust me? Trust me in every sense of the word?”

“Of course! Why are you asking me this? Do you trust me to that degree?”

“Yes,” he said softly. “But it cannot be one-sided. What if something happens? What if you withhold information…”

“I would never do that!” she snapped, disliking the way the conversation was turning. She turned to face him angrily. “Where are these accusations coming from?” He was quiet, her eyes inspecting her intensely. Unconsciously, she shivered under his gaze. “Mulder, stop staring at me, please. You are making me very uncomfortable.”

“I apologize.” He looked down at his feet for a second, trying to find the courage to speak again to her. “Do I make you uncomfortable, Mrs. Buchanan?”

She flinched at the use of her formal title and married name and closed her eyes as if in pain. “Scully. Just Scully.”

Mulder watched her with an inquisitive eye as she paced in front of him, frustrated. “I cannot stop thinking about you, you know?” she said quietly. She slowed her pacing and watched him carefully. “Ever since that night, I came to your barracks. I do not know what possessed me that night. I dream about you when I close my eyes. In my heart, I know I belong to you and no one else. Have I lost my mind, Mulder? Am I crazy?”

“Why are you bringing this up now?” he questioned, watching her stoic face for any sign. “We have conversed freely for the past few weeks, ever since the night when I agreed to work with you. Is my information not reliable enough?”

“No!” She waved her hand widely. “No! That’s not it. It’s…” She sighed, trying to collect herself. “Ever since that night, have you not felt differently?”

“Different how?”

“Like, you were older than you actually were. Like you have been someone else. You belong to someone else.”

“I cannot say that I have,” he lied.

Scully instantly felt foolish of herself. “Never mind.”

“If you feel it is important to all this…”

“It is not. I appreciate you coming by tonight. Have you found new accommodations at your new post?”

He shook his head. “I’ve been sleeping on a cot for the past couple of weeks in the office. It is a step up from the hammock that was on the ironclad.” He shrugged. “Is that why you summoned me here?”

“No. Well, yes. Partly. I have been concerned with the rumors I have been hearing about the battles raging on the peninsula,” she said softly. “I worry.”

“Why? The fighting is far away,” he shrugged. “I have faith that the warring armies will not come here to Norfolk.”

Scully was silent.

“You think otherwise.”

“The Confederacy is losing this war,” she told him evenly. He continued to stare at her quietly as if it was supposed to mean something. “Why are you just staring?”

“Of course I know they are losing this war. The Union will be here in due time, of that I have no doubt. Are you worried about your husband or yourself? I assure you that they will come but you should be safe.”

Why was he speaking her with such detachment? What had changed since she had last seen him a month and half ago. “Why are you speaking to me in such a manner?”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably and gazed out the window. Since the ironclad battle, he had been feeling different himself. He could not exactly place it. He kept up his correspondence and spying with her as he had promised, but kept himself at arm's length. He also did his best to inquire about her welfare per his captain’s orders, but he still did not want to grow too close. But he was. He had started having strange dreams about her as well. He felt stranger feelings that burning in him about Scully. That night in the barracks had startled him and awoken something within him, but he did not know what, just that it kept growing with intensity.

“You are not the only one who has felt...strange,” he whispered.

“It was the rosary, was it not?” Scully said softly, lowering her eyes. “I apologize for being so bold.”

“No, no,” he said instantly. “You were not.”

He was quiet.

“Then why have you avoided me? I can tell in our correspondence that you are purposely keeping me away.”

“I am trying to keep you safe,” he admitted. “I am no good to be around, I am a soldier, and not to mention our little ring. I breed danger. Everyone around me gets hurt.”

“Keep me safe,” she scoffed. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, Mulder, I assure you.”

He bit his lip, refraining from saying anything else damaging or revealing. “Of that, I have no doubt. Maybe...maybe I am the wrong one for this. Maybe you need someone who is more...headstrong. Maybe you made a mistake with me.”

She arched her eyebrow in surprise. “A mistake? What makes me think I made a mistake?” she deadpanned. He looked away and out the window. “Mulder, look at me in the eye.”

“I must be going,” he said softly. “Expect my next report within the week.”

“No.” He turned to leave but was caught off guard by her boldness as she grabbed his hand and stilled him with her other hand on his arm. “Stop being a martyr. Why do you treat your self so poorly?” She hesitated before pushing a loose strand of his hair away from his face. “Stop it. Stop it right now.”

She continued to amaze him time and time again and her intimate gesture just continued to add to that shock. He blinked, clearing his mind but found himself leaning into her touch. “Stop what? The truth?”

“I will slap you if I must to knock some sense into you,” she threatened. “You need to realize that you are worth something, you are worth something to me, even if you see it.”

“Where is this coming from?” he questioned in a low voice.

“I do not know,” she whispered in awe of her own words. Scully looked at him curiously. Drawing in a deep breath, she asked, “Will you still stay?”

He nodded into her hand as she withdrew it. “As long as you desire.”

“You can trust me, Mulder, I promise,” she said softly.

In a moment, Mulder threw his caution to the wind and grabbed Scully possessively. His arm coiled around her waist and his free hand forced her head upwards to meet her in an earth shattering kiss. Scully gasped and mentally willed to pull herself away, but she could not. No. She pulled back slightly and smiled before lunging forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and deepening the second kiss. This felt right. He was right. Mulder hummed in approval, hitched her skirts up, and carried them towards the couch in the study.

 

. . . .

 

Chic’s Beach, Virginia Beach  
December 16, 1998

 

Scully smiled to herself hearing the gentle sound of the Chesapeake Bay’s small waves washing on shore as they got out of the car in the parking lot to a red building that overlooked the bay and the bridge in the distance. It felt a little weird to her to be doing something outside of work with her partner, dressed in jeans, sweatshirts, sneakers, and jackets...actual regular clothes. It almost felt like a date with the restaurant they had arrived at, but it was not, and she needed to keep reminding herself that.

“Wow,” Mulder said as he took in the view of the lighted bridge reflecting over the bay for as far as the eye could see. “Wonder how long it is.”

“Twenty-three miles,” she answered quickly. “Well, close to it anyways. They’re working on an expansion.”

“You really are smarter than me, Scully. You know that?” he teased.

“Well, I won’t go around telling everyone. Don’t worry, Mulder.”

He smiled, glad to see Scully a little lighter and a bit more herself. He was worried about her (as he should be!) but she would never let him fawn over her. She had been acting a little out of character the past few days but tonight, she seemed back to her old self. In some respect. “So, you going to get the most expensive thing on the menu, Scully?”

“With your g-man salary? You bet. At this rate, I’m going to drain your savings account if you keep buying me all these dinners,” she said softly. “Not to mention the pounds.”

“You need to do more than bee pollen and yogurt, Scully.” His hand found its familiar place on the small of her back. “Come on, let’s go wine and dine.”

 

. . . .

 

The low lights and quiet atmosphere settled over the FBI agents like a favorite blanket that you wrap yourself in on a cold winter night. Scully had found herself loosening up, opening up, and laughing like the young agent she used to be six years ago. Mulder kept it light, laughing as he did, rejoicing in her relaxed state. It was all too rare.

“You really don’t have to do this, Mulder,” she began, “you know this right?”

The hostess led them to a small intimate booth near the window. The restaurant was not that big to begin with. Five booths lined the wall where in the middle of the restaurant where a few tables here and there and across the dining room, against the other wall, was a small bar with a fancy collection of beer and liquor bottles on display. Mulder waved his hand as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

“No worries, Scully,” he said. He opened the menu and glanced at it. “They got loads of seafood to pick from.”

“What makes you think I want seafood?” She arched an eyebrow and looked down at the menu herself. “Oh, this looks interesting, seafood nachos.”

“Sounds disgusting,” he said. “Now here’s something you don't see every day: seafood mac and cheese. I think you'll love it because you’re a daughter of a navy captain. Water’s in your blood, especially since the human body is made up of 80 percent of water.”

“Look at you being all scientific. But how is that any better?” she cried.

“More seafood to pick from. Your nachos just have crab meat. Which,” he held up a finger, stopping her from starting a rebuttal, “is nothing wrong with it.”

She shook her head and looked down at the menu. “When was the last time we did something like this, Mulder?”

“What?”

“Just...hang out,” Scully replied after a moment.

A waiter appeared before them and smiled. Scully glanced at Mulder, smiling and raising her eyebrows suspensefully. “Good evening, folks. My name is Jared and I wll be taking care of you. Can I start you off with an appetizer?”

She looked at Mulder and gave him a devilish smile which he returned. “Whatever you want, Scully,” he told her, motioning to the menu with his hand.

“Crab dip,” she said excitedly. She glanced at Jared. “We’ll start of with that and can we get two hurricanes, and oh, water for both of us.”

“Wonderful choices,” he replied writing down their order. “We are featuring a few specials if you would like to hear them?” She nodded. “Excellent! So we have two. The first is a grilled mahi mahi with crab imperial on top with a choice of two sides. The second is a surf and turf. We have an eight ounce sirloin cooked with eight locally caught shrimp, also with a choice of two sides.”

“What do you say, Mulder?” She raised her eyebrow. “We can share.”

“Medium on the steak?”

“Medium rare.”

“Sounds good.” He closed her menu and took hers as well, passing them off the waiter. “We’ll have one of each.”

Jared nodded and wrote down the order. “And do you what sides would you like?”

“Mac and cheese and green beans?” He glanced at Scully and she nodded. “Whatever the lady desires.”

“Wonderful. All get that all in for you. Let me know if I can do anything for you in the meantime.”

 

. . . .

 

Scully did not know what had caused it. All throughout dinner, she felt bubbly, warm. It was probably all the wine and good food, and the good company. Scully did not want to say it aloud but it felt like a date. Was this a date? Mulder was smiling at her, talking about something. All this new intimacy (or was it old intimacy), it was beginning to put things in a different perspective.

“You know,” she began, taking the wine glass and swirling the last little bit, “we never do this.”

“What?”

“Hang out. We're friends, wouldn’t you say?” she asked slowly.

“Of course. You're my best friend.” He shrugged, sipping his drink. “Who else is going to let me call them at two a.m. with wild theories. And besides, I did offer to buy you a drink that one time right when we started working together.”

“Five years ago when you were meeting one of your shadowy informants does not count.”

He shrugged. “What are you trying to say, Scully? You would want to do more of this? Putting up with my sorry ass in public?”

She gave a smile small and nodded. Mulder gave her a warm smile as well. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and set it on his dirty plate. “Well, I am stuffed. How about you?”

“I can’t move.”

“So, we’re like two blocks away from the bay. Let’s go check it out. We can put our leftovers in the car.”

Scully arched her eyebrow suspiciously. “Who are you and what have you done with Mulder?”

He laughed and motioned for the check. After he paid it, they strolled down the short street to a plankway that led down to the beach. Scully took a moment to listen to the cars passing over the Chesapeake Bay Bridge and how the street lights mirrored on the bay, casting just enough light to see the gentle ebbing waves. Mulder nudged her along by placing the small of his hand on her back and began the walk down the shoreline.

“How are you feeling, Scully?”

“Level-headed, probably the first time in days,” she admitted. “It was probably a good thing to take a break from reviewing all those notes.”

Notes, he mused silently, including that random one that was on her notepad that had nothing to do with the case. He would have to ask her about that.

“We still have our work cut out for us though.”

“I know. I’m surprised they’re not making us a part of the manhunt tonight.”

“Don’t question our good fortune. I requested the journal that he kept so we can review it. Maybe we can find something there.”

“That’s more your department than mind.” She wrapped her arms around herself slightly. “No much I can do with it.”

Mulder pursed his lips in thought, unsure of how to approach the subject. “Well, we might gain some better insight if we look at it together.”

“And maybe we can rewatch the interview tapes. I know the prosecution had some prior to his sentencing.”

“How do you think he escaped? Buckley hardly seem the brightest person in the world. He had no past indicating lockpicking skills” She shrugged and he continued in thought. “Maybe we should look at those claims of a past life. Maybe there is a correlation with the Tennessee case and Epishan?”

“What, did you serve in Virginia too?” she teased.

“I honestly don’t think that regression was accurate,” he admitted after a pregnant pause. “I don’t think any of that was right.”

“So you’re telling me you don’t believe in past lives now?”

“Not necessarily. I just don’t think that one was right.”

Mulder needed to do some research about past lives before he even considered approaching Scully with the topic. Ever since she had admitted to the dreams, his brain kept spinning. It started the other day at Buckley’s sentencing and then when the met him in the interview afterwards. Buckley seemed...different somehow in contrast when they first arrested him the year before. And not to mention his own weird dream from the previous morning. He did not remember much but as the day had passed he did remember something. Someone’s blue eyes and those eyes had looked just like Scully’s. They were her eyes. That much he was confident of, along with other things. He cleared his throat unconsciously as he paused and watched her walk further down the beach.

He would do anything for her. But how could he approach the topic of past lives with her without her dismissing him? He knew there was a connection there between her, Buckley, and himself. He just did not know what. Maybe he could get a better look at that note…

“Mulder.”

He blinked and focused on Scully. “Hm?”

“You ready to go back to the hotel? It’s getting late.”

“Yeah. You ready?”

She nodded. “Thank you, for tonight. I really enjoyed myself.”

“Anytime, Scully,” he said simply. He reclaimed his spot on the small of her back and they began the trek back to their car. “Let’s get going.”


	7. Chapter 7

May 6, 1862  
Norfolk, Virginia

 

He leaned heavily against the window, his muscles taut and ready to fight, as he overlooked the Elizabeth River. He remembered Gosport Shipyard in Portsmouth, the place he had called home for the first half of the year. He remembered the battle he had experienced on the ironclad. He saw as the Confederate troops evacuating on his way over to Scully's house. He had read the reports earlier that day. He knew what they were on the cusp of. The Union was just across the water on the peninsula in Hampton. He had read how Hampton had burned their own city lest it falls into the hands of the Union the year before. He wondered if his temporary sanctuary of Norfolk would have the same fate. He relaxed as he felt familiar small hands grasp his forearm gently in commardiare and lean against his bicep. He sighed and pulled her close, kissing her red locks.

“This is really is happening. This really is happening, isn't it, Mulder?” She said it flatly, like stating a fact instead of an observation. “The Union is coming.”

“Yes. It was only a matter of time. We both knew it.” He sighed. “If they catch me, they'll probably kill me or send me to a prisoner of war camp.

The simple syllable carried heavily to her heart as she sighed. She took his hand. “Are you leaving too?” she mumbled.

“I expect the order to come down soon.”

“Will you follow?”

There was an air of challenge in her voice. He swallowed the sudden lump he had in his throat and freed himself from her. “I need to follow orders,” he whispered. His heart was heavy. He did not want to leave her. “I do what I must.”

“Whose orders, Mulder? Your superiors or the ones in your heart,” she echoed his thoughts.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to make your own choices. You made your own choice when you decided to help me!”

“I am a soldier,” he spat. “I have to. As much as I have loved….this, what we have...” He waved his hand uselessly about the room. “I knew it could not last forever. It never does for me. You deserve someone to be happy with, Scully, someone other than me.”

He stormed to the shelf where she kept the whiskey. Without any ceremony, he tore the top off he decanter and drank heavily without pouring a glass.. Scully sighed and brought her hands to her waist in thought. “A soldier?” she challenged. “You're acting like a coward instead, Mulder! You are more than that you know. You are a spy as well. You're a good man!”

“More of a lie,” he chuckled bitterly. “I have to honor this uniform.”

“You speak of duty as if it is a thing so free to give away,” she snapped.

“Hampton burned their own city rather than face the oncoming Union army. The Union navy has blockaded the entire region, Scully. The Confederacy is scuttling their own ships. The office is burning all documents,” he hissed. “What do you expect me to do?”

“I expect you to do something, Mulder!”

Mulder's mind burned with the intensity of her past kisses and his heart sizzled with the remembrance of her soft, soothing touch. “Like when you took me to your bed three weeks ago?” he spat. He slammed the decanter down and punched the wall with resounding force. He gasped angrily. “Shit!”

“I’d appreciate you not punching holes in my wall,” she sighed softly.

“What does it matter?” He replied forlornly. “It’s all going to be burned anyways.”

Scully titled her head, watching him nurse his hand. She shook her head slightly and ordered, “Give me your hand. Let me see it.”

“It is fine, Scully.”

“Mulder, don’t make me break your other hand. Give it here.”

“Scully, I’m fine.”

“Mulder, don’t me make ask again.”

He sighed and held out the offending hand, wincing as he did. She gently took his hand with sure hands and he did everything in his power to keep himself from shivering. He closed his eyes, remembering that night, as his hands had raked his body for the first time, claiming it as hers. His body was hers. As was his heart and soul. Unwittingly, he had submitted to this petite redhead in worship. “You should be a doctor,” he teased under his breath.

“Hm. I wanted to be when I was a child. At one time. Flex your hand for me.”

He did as he was ordered, wincing as he did. She examined him and nodded, a tsk-tsk sound emanating from her lips. “You’re just particularly stubborn. I wish I had a cure for that, however, I do not.”

He closed his eyes: her lips tracing his battle scars, lingering over the musket ball wound near his shoulder, tears in her eyes as she wanted to make all his wounds heal, including his heart.

“Mulder.”

Such love. Such tenderness.

“Mulder.”

He opened his eyes and focused on her. She looked sad, maybe despondent almost. “Anything broken?” he managed.

“No,” she replied stiffly, releasing his hand. “Just bruised. You will be fine.”

The familiarity was gone. The warmth was gone. She stalked away and back towards the window overlooking the Elizabeth River as her thoughts churned with the oncoming destruction. The early summer air seemed intolerable at that point. She wished she could wear something lighter. Unconsciously, she reached for a fan she held by and began to air herself. How she longed for cooler temperatures in her hometown of Baltimore. His decision was just as stifling as the humidity.

“Scully,” he began.

“You risked your life because you believed in something,” she began, glaring at him out of the corner of her eye. “You risked everything because of me, a complete stranger, asked you to. Why?”

He remembered the hurried kissing from that night, the completeness he had felt.

“It felt right.” Silence. “It was right.”

“You blame me for that night.”

“I blame you for nothing,” he defended quickly. “You saved me.”

The last part came out hurriedly, like the storm surge from a brewing storm that was inevitable but still surprising.

“I did no such thing,” she began. The air was still heavy in between them. “So you leave. You rejoin you comrades and flee to God know where.” She hugged herself. “The end. With that being said, thank you for your service. I wish you well, Mr. Mulder.”

“Scully.”

“Just stop, Mulder.” She leaned against the windowpane. “Just. Stop. I cannot bear you to utter another word other than goodbye! You've served your purpose!”

“What would you have me do?” He cried. “I betrayed my oath. I am a traitor! I have nothing to go back to!”

“Just for once,” she yelled, tears in her eyes, “will you stop being the martyr! It isn't all about you. Have you ever considered for a moment that you actually have meant something to me!”

“I am not a martyr!”

“Yes. You. Are.” She hissed, pausing at each word for emphasis. “You always were. You haven't even listened to me just now! That is why you agreed to do this. That is why you relented to come to my bed three weeks ago. You still grieve as the widower and you commit adultery to punish yourself. You see yourself unworthy. I bet you hoped to die when you agreed to help me.”

“That night,” he spat. “I did because I wanted to. Because we...we, Scully, wanted to. I did it because I love you.”

Silence.

“Yes. Because we, Mulder, we,” she paused, “we wanted too. I love you too. Do you hear me, Mulder. I love you.”

Her last words were lost on him. “I’m a traitor,” he began in a whisper, focusing on his bashed hand. “I am an adulteress. I am a disappointment, not only to my uniform but to my family as well. I failed as a husband, to the father I never was, as a soldier, both to my countries, real and fake, to my commanding officer, to my God. I am nothing but a failure.”

“For god's sake,” Scully huffed angrily, “you are intolerable when you are moody. You are worse than my mother.” She rushed forward and cupped his face in her hands. “And you're an idiot. Did you not hear me, Mulder. I love you. I love you.”

“You are a saint for dealing with me,” he mumbled.

“Saint Scully at your service,” she mocked. She sighed and rested her forehead against his. “We can flee, Mulder. We can always run.”

“We?” He took a moment to let the idea process in his head. “We? You would come with me?”

“You face certain death if you stay,” she said. “I’ve read about the prisoner camps. You will surely die. And yes. Why would I abandon the man I have fallen in love with?”

“I betrayed my uniform. I'm a coward.”

“You fight for the greater good. And you're a bit misguided, and a fool. But you're my misguided fool.”

“I had relations with my captain's wife. I took a married woman to bed.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” she mumbled, pushing away from the window. “Adultery? This again? Let it go, Mulder. For me, let it go.”

“This is very uncatholic like.”

She rolled her eyes. “It is my life to do as I wish. Not you or Franklin have a say in that, do you understand? Well, you have a wee bit of a say. I have never loved the man. I married him because it was my duty to my family. I am tired of doing things for everyone else but myself. I choose to bed you. I choose to give my trust to you. I choose to give myself to you. And do you know what, Mulder? It has never felt more right. I have never felt safer. I belong with you, Mulder.” She took a deep breath to steady myself. “Does it bother you that I am a married woman?”

“Formality? In passing?”

“To you, Mulder. I am asking you. Fox Mulder. The man.”

“No.”

“My husband might as well be dead,” she said slowly. “I accepted that fact. I haven't seen a letter nor have you heard anything. You haven't as well.”

“He was very much alive when I saw him in the infirmary.”

“He was whisked off to Richmond. I have not heard anything since then. He might as well be dead. He has made no effort to write me so why should I care?”

“They made him an admiral shortly after the battle,” he whispered. “I saw the report.”

“Why do I care?” Scully repeated. She caressed his cheek. “As far as I am concerned, he is dead, Mulder. I was used…” She shook her head in disgust. “But do not let yourself be.”

“How,” he laughed.

The laughter stung. She clutched her hands to her heart, feeling tears in her eyes. “Come with me,” she whispered. “We can flee this place and continue what we started.”

“What?” He choked on a bitter laugh. “Our little spy ring? If I leave, I am a deserter. They’ll track me down.”

“So desert,” she urged. “Mulder, come with me. Please. I’m begging you.”

She never begged. She never allowed herself to bow to anyone else, especially her husband. But he was different. He was somehow...different. The dreams had plagued her since the night she had laid eyes on him. She felt something the moment she had laid eyes on him. The dreams were so overpowering. That is why she had taken him to her bed to begin with. That is why she had fell in love with him. She held out her hand, a token of modesty and desperation. She expected him to dismiss her. He did not believe. He would never believe.

But to her surprise, she felt a hot hand take hers gently from her breast. Then his lips. Dear God, those lips of his should be a sin because of things he did to her that night was.

“How?” he whispered, joining her at the window.

Unconsciously, he pulled her towards his chest, his arms cocooning around her (it felt right). It was right. “We could flee together.”

“Star-crossed lovers? Did not Shakespeare write about that? It did end well.”

“I like surprise endings.”

She felt him breathe deeply as she sunk her arms around him. “Me a deserter, spy, an adulteress. You, an angel on Earth.” She snorted into his chest. “Well, my devilish muse.” She smiled into his shell jacket. “Flee Norfolk tonight. The armies, on both sides, mind you, likely ready to kill us. Where would we go?”

“We could go to Richmond,” she whispered, kissing his exposed throat “A new beginning.”

“For who?”

“Us. We can resume where we left off at and continue to make a difference”

Mulder wretched her left hand from his back, as much as he despised it, and held it for inspection. “Will you do me the honors,” he whispered, kissing her wedding band, “of being my wife?”

She laughed. “You have to get me a proper ring and a priest.”

Gently, he tore off her wedding bands and looked at her bare hand hungrily. She took his own left hand hurriedly and pulled off his own wedding band that he wore in remembrance. Together, they let both of their left hands push and extend against each other, their fingers elongated as if testing each other in strength, before they finally settled, clasping each other in singular bond. She nuzzled his chest.

“We would need a name.”

“Hm. Indeed. Any ideas, Scully?”

“Healey,” she breathed, against the gray wool. “My mother’s maiden name.”

“Fox and Dana Healey.

“William and Katherine Healey.”

“We would need new rings.”

“We could buy them.”

She hesitated. “We would need a priest.”

“For what?”

“To make it official.”

He pulled back in surprise. “Scully?”

“Who the fuck cares?”

“Fuck,” he questioned lightly. “I’m not familiar with the word.”

“I read John Ash’s dictionary the other week,” she smiled. Her kisses continued. “It just feels right, Mulder. Like us.”

He should do the noble thing. It was in his blood. It had been bred into his life. His mother made sure of it. But her. Scully. Dana. Dana Scully. The surname of Buchanan felt absurd like it did not belong. It had never belonged to her. “I would need a change of clothes.”

She expanded her hand of his chest, picking at his buttons. “I will take care of it,” she whispered. “Don’t go back. We need to leave tonight.”

“Everything that I have,” he mumbled as an afterthought. “Our letters…”

“You have me instead, Mulder,” she soothed. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded slightly, his heart feeling heavy. “War drives us into desperation,” he whispered.

“I found my light,” she answered instead. She gently undid his shell jacket’s buttons and reached her hand inwards to take off his jacket. She felt the warmth of the rosary’s beads against his undershirt. “You still wear it.”

He took her hand gently and squeezed it affirmingly. “I have not taken it off since the night you gave it to me, Scully. I wore it during the battle.”

Overcome with emotion, she buried her face into his chest. The dreams had plagued for months, finally easing in their intensity the night she had decided to take him to her bed. Everything had he had did burned and ravaged itself into her memory, burning away the dreams into a calming sea, and made her realize, this was right. He was right. He was the only one for her. He had been all along.

“Scully? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, Mulder. I’m better than fine.” She kissed his neck tenderly. “I have never felt more alive.”

“I better get rid of this jacket then?”

Her small, deft hands gently unbuttoned his shell jacket and pulled it off of him. “We have a lot to do.”

“You’ve been planning for this, have you not?”

“Should the day ever come, yes, I have. But I was not planning on the company.”

. . . .

 

The darkness hung over them as Mulder took her hand tightly as she slung the sack over her shoulder. Mulder was dressed in a worn white shirt and dirty tan jacket along with his gray uniform pants and boots. Scully wore a much simpler dress similar to what her kitchen staff usually wore. The streetlights flickered every few blocks. Scully was tense but felt the familiar warmth of his hand rest on the small of her back against the heavy, humid air.

“We can’t get caught,” she whispered.

They walked slowly together, trying not to appear out of place on the already deserted streets. She looked around in surprise, expecting to see someone or something, anything really at this point. “Mulder, where is everyone?”

“The Confederates have already retreated. They are scuttling the Gosport Naval Yard. The Union will be here by dawn. The ferries haven’t stopped yet, or at least I hope. We should be able to catch one of the last ones and ride into Hampton.”

“They still had ferries going to Hampton?”

He nodded slightly, wrapping his arm around her small waist in favor of holding her hand. “They had to exchange mail somehow. There are four boats, two southern, two northern. We’re going have to board the other boat in the middle of the river.”

“Why about a more direct path?” she countered. “We cannot risk getting caught. Someone might recognize you.”

“What do you propose we do then? I’m open for options.” She bit her lip and nodded towards the direction of the docks. “We might be able to find passage on a fishing boat.”

“Who’d be crazy enough to take us to the other side of the water, in the middle of a blockade, with an invading army?”

She silenced him by gently putting her finger to his lips and she felt him relax slightly. “Right now, Fox, you have to have faith in your wife. Fate brought us together, faith is what will keep us together.” She rested her hand on his heart, feeling the rosary beads beneath his shirt. “Do you understand?”

He nodded slightly, resting his forehead against hers. “Don’t get used to calling me Fox. Against all odds, hm, Dana?”

“Sorry, William,” she smirked. “We just can’t afford to get caught. That’s just our way. Come on, we have to make time.”

Wearily, Mulder and Scully made their way through the abandoned streets cautiously, making their way towards the river. The southern humidity seemed to grow heavier as they came closer to the docks like the tension was thickening as they neared their destination. They slowed when they saw a lone soldier walking up and down the docks, taking the time to stuff his pipe to smoke some tobacco. Mulder nodded towards the end as he saw two men coiling ropes and bringing them aboard their ship. He nodded southwards to the end of the dock. “There, Scully, there’s our boat.”

“I hope your hunch is right.”

“We’re about to find out,” he murmured. He tried to stand taller and held Scully to his side like a protective husband would. “Excuse me! Excuse me, do y'all have a moment?”

Scully looked up in amazement as Mulder’s neutral New England accent took on a southern drawl that reminded her of the South. The older of the two fishermen dropped the arm full of ropes on the wooden deck of the small sailing vessel. The other fisherman wearily let his hand hover above a knife he kept tucked away in his belt. “What y'all wants?”

“We are trying to get to Hampton,” Mulder began. “My wife has family in Richmond. We’re trying to flee before the Union comes.”

“Ain’t gonna do you no good.” The older man spat a dollop of tobacco over the edge of the boat. “They done burn their city down to the ground last year before those Yanks come in. Ain’t gonna do you any good.”

“Please,” Mulder said, “my wife is with child.”

Scully felt Mulder’s strong hand cover her lower abdomen in a vain attempt to sell their sorry story. “Please.”

“Sorry,” the old man grinned and turned back to his work.

Scully felt Mulder’s confidence stumble as he looked sadly at her as if asking forgiveness. She broke away from Mulder, twisting off her wedding band in the process and held it out as an offering. “Will this do?”

The younger fisherman glanced at his partner and the old man nodded slightly. “Your husband’s too.”

Mulder took a few steps forward slowly and twisted off the plain wedding band from his left ring finger and dropped it into the younger man’s outstretched hand which already held Scully’s wedding band. The gold band clinked next to hers and the younger man clutched them and gave them to his boss. Mulder felt suddenly lighter, despite the graveness of the situation. He took Scully’s hand and pulled her close. In a rare display of affection, well as much as he knew her to be, she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his waist, closed her eyes and buried her face into his cotton shirt. She molded to his side so perfectly.

The old fisherman took the wedding bands, eyeing carefully in the lamplight, biting briefly on Mulder’s to test if it was real. “Fine,” he sighed. “You all can stay below. We leave at dawn.”

“Thank you,” Mulder breathed, kissing Scully’s tumultuous loose strands of red hair freed from her quick bun.

“I need names before we go further.”

“William,” Mulder said automatically and he hugged her slightly. “This is my wife, Katherine.”

“Welcome aboard the Sprout.”

“Quite a name for a naval vessel,” Scully murmured into his shirt.

Mulder held her hand as the younger fisherman guided Scully onto the deck of the small vessel and he followed closely up the gangplank. The ship shifted uneasily in the tide and Scully, with her nervousness and fatigue, struggled to find her balance. Mulder was beside her in an instant, his hand on the small of her back, gently guiding her to his side. She grabbed his other hand and squeezed it tightly, which he interpreted as ‘I’m going to kill you.’ “I’m sorry,” Scully apologized faintly, “I’ve never been on a ship before. It is very overwhelming.”

He kept himself from grinning as the younger fisherman lead them to a small hatch and handed him a lantern. “It’s our storeroom. It ain’t comfortable but it’s safe and warm. I’ll be back with some blankets.”

“Thank you.” Mulder shook the man’s hand firmly and gently guided Scully down the ladder to the storeroom. He passed her the lantern as she hung it above on a random nail. “Well, Scully, home sweet home.”

She frowned in disgust. There was a corner of sacks with a variety of dry goods, a corner of barrels filled with random things, and the other two walls decked out in ropes and various tools. She looked at him softly, trying to hide her smile. “I suppose you don’t have a hammock in your pocket, do you?”

“They aren’t meant for two, but if I did, I suppose I could work something out. You’re tiny enough,” he teased softly.

She dropped her cloth satchel on the bags and smiled slightly, recognizing his teasing. “This is hardly romantic,” she murmured.

They both looked up in surprise when the young man pulled up the top hatch and jogged down the gangway with an armful of cloth. “The captain sends his wishes,” the young man nodded to Scully, “for uh, you and the unborn babe.”

The young fisherman tossed to blankets in the corner and unfurled a hammock, attaching it to two poles under the bunch of sacks of dry goods. “We leave with the tide at dawn. The trip should take a few hours and you should be in Hampton by midafternoon.”

“Thank you,” Scully whispered gratefully, holding her lower abdomen to show.

The young man bowed graciously before leaving the two below in dry storage. “I wish he had been as nice when he took our wedding bands,” Mulder murmured, inspecting the knotwork of the hammock. He nodded in approval. “You’ll be comfortable up there tonight. I never slept better than on a hammock when I was on the Virginia.”

Scully quietly inspected the canvass bed. “I’d be more comfortable with you,” she murmured softly. Mulder bowed his head reverently and outstretched his hand. She took it firmly and pulled him to her and he swallowed her in an embrace. “I regret nothing. Remember that. I am glad for that February night.” She kissed his chest and looked up at him expectantly. “I am happy I found you, Mulder and I only look forward to our future.”

“Our future.” He kissed her lips lightly and rested his forehead against hers. “Against all odds?”

“Against all odds.”

He smiled, despite himself and the situation. “When I gave up my wedding band,” he whispered into her unruly red hair, “I felt like a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Thousands of years of imaginary purgatory I had put myself through. You freed me, Scully. You know that? You set me free.”

“I could say the same,” she murmured, closing her eyes. “I know where I belong.”

“Being a spy?” he whispered in her ear.

“Only with my partner in crime,” she replied quietly. Scully smiled and tried to hide a yawn.

“Tired?” he asked softly. She nodded against his shirt and he smiled in response. “Let’s get you in that hammock.”

“Stay with me,” she ordered softly. He hesitated and nodded slightly. Cupping her cheek, he tilted her head back to gaze into her deep, icy eyes and felt his soul spring free and drown. In her eyes, he felt himself grow ages older, but still, she was always there, entwined with his life, like two sides of a coin. Mulder blinked as he felt her cool hands cup his face. “You feel it too? That is why I came to you that night. I had dreams about you even though we just met. There is something about us, Mulder. I can’t put my finger on it…”

He silenced her with a deep kiss, his tongue delving into her mouth, silencing her effectively. “Then don’t. We are here now, in the middle of a war, with an uncertain future together. That is all I care for is you. Just you, Scully.”

“Maybe you were a bard and I was a princess in a past life,” she teased.

“And I stole you away from your wicked husband?” he continued.

They began to sway together with the rhythm of the rocking of the small boat. “The other way around,” she corrected. “I saved you, on top of a white horse and a sword on fire.”

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckled.

Scully smiled and nuzzled his chest. This is why she loved this man, even though they had yet to admit the three words, but she knew she had never felt this sort of love, attraction, or loyalty to anyone but him in her life. He treated her as his equal and, sometimes, looked to her for guidance. Nuzzling his neck, Scully whispered, “Let’s go to sleep.”

Mulder was the first into the hammock, steadying it as Scully’s petite form climbed on top of him and rolled unceremoniously to his left side, snug and wedged between the canvass side and his chest. She tossed the wool blanket around them, effectively cocooning them in the hammock. She felt his left arm snake around her as she wiggled against him to get comfortable. “It’s a little tight,” he managed. “Sorry.”

“Hmph,” she grunted, “don’t be.”

She felt Mulder’s hand tracing her hip and waist, humming happily. “There aren’t those usual contraptions keeping me away.”

“I’m not one of those French girls.”

“That night, Scully,” he paused, unsure how to continue.

“It won’t be the last,” she whispered, arching her neck to whisper in his ear. “But I do not like an audience.” She guided his free hand down and through her skirts, applying just enough pressure. “You’re still a miracle worker,” she murmured. “Not now.” She grunted happily, sliding against him. “Later. Later.”

“Your wish is my command.”

 

. . . .

 

Scully’s eyes were closed as the small fishing vessel rocked in the harbor waves. She could not sleep. Her skirts felt heavy, the blanket was too warm, everything was too unfamiliar. The rocking of the small craft made her feel uncertain. “Mulder,” she whispered.

“Mmph,” he murmured, nuzzling her head with his nose. She could tell he had been asleep as his lanky form stretched unsuccessfully in the hammock. “You okay, Scully?” She made a noncommittal sound and hugged her arm across his chest tightly. He interlaced his free hand with hers and squeezed it. “You want to tell me?”

She shook her head and they continued to lay in silence.

Mulder sighed and paused before talking. “You know, this is actually quite homely compared to what it was like on the Virginia. That was my second time aboard a ship. My first time was right when the war broke out. I think I was on a small tug down in South Carolina. I was just catching a ride to my next post and there was no room for me to sleep below deck so they set me up this little net, similar to a hammock and I had to sleep outside.”

He paused and she squeezed his hand, an indication she was listening. He smiled and continued. “It had just finished storming. You know, one of the summer thunderstorms that leave the air heavy, especially with that southern air. But the air wasn’t thick like that. It seemed clearer that night. And then the clouds opened up.”

Scully closed her eyes and snuggled closer under the blanket and pressed herself against his side. She imagined being there with him as he told his story. “What did you see?” she whispered.

“The moon and the stars.” He released a slow, satisfying sigh in memory. “Scully, I had never seen the moon so bright. Night was day. The waves lapped against the hull and it was like being rocked to sleep.”

“Kind of like now?”

“Hm. I would take now over then. The view is much more beautiful.”

“We’re in a storage hold.” She opened her eyes and looked up and saw how he dreamily gazed at her. For a moment, she was mesmerized by his eyes and she felt like she had known him much longer than two months, more than a lifetime, many lifetimes over. “Oh.”

“I know, I know this isn’t what you had in mind, Scully. But I just wanted to know, I’m glad you decided to let me tag along.”

Sher arched her neck up, kissing him deeply before snuggling back into his chest. “Tell me another story, Mulder.”

 

. . . .

 

Holiday Inn by the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 16, 1998

Scully sat up in her bed suddenly, blinking away the sleep from her eyes. The dream had been so vivid. She could still the May humidity in the air and the snugness of the hammock--hammock? What? She leaned against the headboard, wondering if her fuzzy head was due largely in part to the mix drinks with Mulder earlier that evening. Her eyes went to the nightstand to read the red numbers 3:07 a.m. She could see the shadow of her cell phone wondering if the U.S. Marshalls would be calling with a lead on Buckley.

Buckley.

The way he had addressed her seemed so...familiar and unnerving. She closed her eyes in thought, forcing her to focus on her breathing. The thought of him seemed to force her body to unconsciously panic, tensing, as if she was expecting something.

_“Franklin, do you think you scare me?”_

_“You should be scared, Dana. You betrayed your country. You betrayed our marriage.”_

_She can’t see this man’s face. This Franklin._

_“I never loved you! You kept me prisoner in a gilded cage!”_

_“We took vows, Dana!”_

_Scully unconsciously rose her left hand defiantly, baring her naked ring figure for the imaginary audience to see._

_“What vow? I was never your wife. I never loved you.”_

_She flinched as if feeling something cold press against her neck, right in the same spot as the chip that kept her cancer at bay._

_“Well, at least you will be joining him, till death do you part.”_

She remembers seeing another mind, bound, being forced to watch her. She can’t see his face but it is his eyes. Dark hazel eyes that swarm with gold, green, and brown, drawing her into her into its depths as the cold sensation on the back of her neck increased.

_“It’s okay, Scully. It’s okay.”_

She knew that voice. Where did she know that voice from?

_“Just keep looking at me, okay? Just look at me.”_

_That voice seems choked in a sob. Why was the other man crying? What was happening?_

_“For godsakes, Lieutenant, I knew you were such a pansy.”_

_“Scully, I love you. I will always love you, now and forever.”_

Things suddenly came into focus for a split second as the hammer of the pistol cocked back and she saw him. The pistol went off and she just remembered screaming his name.

She opened her eyes and saw Mulder standing in the doorway adjoining their rooms mid-run, his eyes searching her face. He took three swift steps before turning on the night stand light and sitting on the edge of the queen bed. “Scully?” He frowned, gently cupped her face, and pushed away from the tears with his thumbs. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

She grabbed his wrists as if trying to anchor herself to reality. “What are you talking about?”

He stilled her frantic movements and calmly called her name. “Scully. Scully, look at me.”

Her watery blue eyes found his gaze. Those dark hazel eyes had pulled her in during that weird memory and she realized that man was Mulder. Her Mulder. The dreams came back with sudden clarity and she tried to stay anchored to the moment. She continued to cry, breaking away. He was alive. Mulder was alive. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, scratching at his back as centuries of grief and love came to her in that one singular moment.

Mulder was surprised at her sudden show of emotion, especially by her. Instinctively though, he tucked her form into his lap and coiled his own arms around her. He tried to follow her endless stream of chatter over her hiccups. “Mulder...I remember now...all...us. You left...everything...for us. He found...shot me...you watched.”

He whispered fervently. “Scully, what are you talking about?”

She pulled back, examining his face. Her had no clue. Mulder had no idea.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More things are falling into place.
> 
> Heads up: some smut at the end. Just be warned. Changed the rating and everything.

Holiday Inn at the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 17, 1998

Scully sat against the headboard quietly with her knees pulled defensively to her chest. Resting her chin on the top her of knees, she watched Mulder in silence as he sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of how to proceed or even treat with Scully after her latest outburst and nightmare. She had quieted, grown control of her emotions, and with that, the walls of the impermeable Fort Scully went up as well.

“Scully, you have to say something eventually. This silence is killing me here.”

She looked at him differently now. Her blue eyes were heavier, older, but he felt a warmth come over him that he did not know how to describe like he belonged to her and he knew it. But what was more, she looked like she had seen a ghost, or did not know what to do with him. He felt his emotions raging within him and he did not know what to do.

“You watched me die,” she whispered finally.

“When,” he asked, shifting uneasily on the bed. “The cancer…”

“No. Not the cancer. Not my abduction. Someone shot me in the back of the head.” She pointed to the base of her skull. “They forced you to watch me die, to be executed. You never broke your gaze with me.”

“Scully.”

“You told me that you loved me and that you always would, no matter what.”

“Scully.” His chest was tight and he almost did indulge in him. “Tell me what you are talking about.”

“Mulder, the dreams, everything just sort of snapped into place when I saw the latest victim today.”

“What dreams. You want to tell me?”

“We knew each other, we’ve always known each other. This lifetime, others.” She waved her hand uselessly. “I can’t explain it. I have no proof except for what I feel and what I’ve seen.”

He was quiet, watching her thoughtfully. She shifted uneasily under his intense, detached gazed he reserved for examining an x-file or profiling. She tried to search his face for any clue to what he was feeling. “You think I’m crazy,” she determined. Her shoulder sagged under some unknown weight. “You think that I’m imagining it.”

[[MORE]]

“I haven’t said anything, Scully.”

“You don’t have to. Your look says it all. You think I’m crazy. Maybe I should have never said anything in the first place.” She licked her lips and lowered her gaze. Mulder was unused to seeing her like this…so vulnerable suddenly and their roles switched; her the believer and him the skeptic. “I’ll call Kersh in the morning and asked to be removed from the case. Maybe you and Diana can track down Buckley.”

“Why would you do that,” he asked.

“I’m a liability,” she shrugged. Her mind could not stop replaying the memory of him watching her be shot. Witnessing her execution. She was beginning to recall the dreams in more detail too. There were was still a lot to uncover, that she knew in her heart, but the dreams of a past life with Mulder were coming to fruition. Her and Mulder had lived together, side by side, during the Civil War as lovers. “Besides, I’m just holding you back.” The words she spoke were bitterly familiar and fresh. “I know you don’t need me to solve this. They need a profiler, not a pathologist. And if Buckley is claiming a past life as well, Diana could help you out.”

He stayed silent, watching her just as intensely. Her eyes flickered up at him before looking away again. Why was she acting like this? What had gotten into her? “I need my partner, Scully.”

“Your partner has likely gone crazy,” she dismissed. She continued to look away, fixating on the fake wood nightstand. “You don’t need that distraction.”

“I never said you were crazy.”

“Your look says otherwise, Mulder.” Scully sighed bitterly and shook her head. “Just forget I said anything or that I woke up screaming blooding murder. It’s probably for the best. I’m fine.”

Mulder sighed softly and moved towards the other end of the bed and she winced slightly at the closeness of him. He lifted his hand slightly, flexing his fingers, before gathering the courage to cup her cheek and turn her eyes to meet his. “You are not crazy. I believe you, Scully.”

She bit her lip, new, unknown emotions welling in her chest. She felt such a heavy pang in her heart, such love that had been cultivated through the ages but seemed new and foreign at the same time. Wordless communication flowed between them as she pressed her own hand against him in affirmation. She wanted to say something, anything but could not find her voice. Mulder gave a weak smile when he heard his cell phone ringing in the other room.

“I’ll be right back,” he said softly.

He got up and retreated back to her room. She could hear him on the phone speaking quietly. She herself, despite the chaos swimming her mind, felt some relief and anchored as well with Mulder’s belief in her. She closed her eyes and tried to take a deep breath, willing the new fragmented memories away into some little box so she could focus.

“Scully.” Her eyes bolted open and met his hazel ones. “We have another murder. Buckley killed again.”

“Where?”

“Hampton. Right across the river.”

Hampton? Why did Hampton seem so familiar?

… .

Hampton, Virginia  
December 17, 1998

The air coming off the bay and the James River was chilly. She tried to nestle herself into her black trench coat to ward off the cold as she walked the crime scene, looking for a clue to signs of a struggle. Mulder was already talking to the local detectives. She could she other FBI agents milling about gathering evidence with the police. She was secretly glad that Fowley was not here this morning with the ASAC. She did not know how much of that vulture grandma she could handle. Taking a deep breath, unsatisfied with her initial survey, she walked confidently towards the covered body, pulling out the latex gloves she keeps in her pocket. She knelt down, her nostrils flaring at the stench of fresh blood and gore. This was less than twelve hours old. Was Buckley close? Was he watching them was some sick satisfaction? She cast her own personal thoughts aside and went into doctor mode. She pulled back the sheet and put the back of her hand to her mouth to keep herself from losing the contents of her stomach. Scully was not one to be so easily intimidated or disgusted but the brutality of this…

“You okay,” Mulder whispered as he crouched next to her.

She managed a nod and gently touched the exploded brains across the asphalt. “He shot her from behind. At the base of the skull.”

“How can you tell?” As soon as the words left his lips, he instantly regretted them.

“Her head is blown clearly away with the brains splattered everywhere, Mulder.” She tapped the base of her skull behind her neck and lowered her voice. “He pressed the gun here, stood from behind and made her beg. He made her beg, Mulder.”

She jerked her hand back quickly and ripped off the latex gloves and stormed away. Mulder was behind her in two quick strikes. He grabbed her arm gently to steady her. “Scully? What is it?”

She swallowed, her mouth dry as cotton, as she tried to keep the contents of her stomach down. She kept looking at the gory scene, her mind mentally replaying the fragmented memory from earlier that morning. “Mulder, remember how I was telling you last night about the dream. You having to watch me die? I was shot the exact same way.”

The vulnerability in her voice. She was scared. He had only seen her like this a handful of times. She confessed it in a whisper, afraid someone would overhear it. He discretely squeezed her hand. “Maybe…maybe he is the other one? Franklin?”

Her eyes darted to him wildly and somehow, he seemed older as well. “How do you know that name?”

Running his hand uselessly through his hair, Mulder looked down at their feet and shook his head. “I just do. I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

“Mulder,” she began, unsure.

“It involves us and him,” he whispered. He winced. “I think.”

“Do you remember anything? Are you remembering too?”

Mulder was quiet, staring at her, trying to recall something. He looked her dead in the eye. “Your eyes. I remember your eyes. I felt like I could fall into them forever. I was home.” The implications of what he had just said came flooding into her mind but Mulder stilled her wild thoughts. “But this isn’t the time or the place. We need to focus. Go do the autopsy. I’ll finish up here. We’ll talk about this later, okay?”

… .

Hampton, Virginia  
May 12, 1862

She remembered watching the flames from across the river. That was how bright the blaze was when the Confederate army burned Hampton the year before. Now, all there was was ruins. The brick buildings ghosts of themselves. She felt like a ghost herself. Scully pulled her knees to her chest and pulled Mulder’s jacket around her. She buried her face in the jacket, smelling his comforting scent and the wood smoke from the fire. She gazed further down from the ruined home they were staying in for the night. He was laughing and conversing among recently freed slaves as if it was the most natural thing in the world. She smiled and admired him for what he believed in. Everyone was equal. Sighed, she wearily glanced around her lone postion as she watched the occupying Union forces mill about the ragtag camp they now found themselves in consisting of Union soldiers, recently freed slaves, and civilian refugees.

Mulder was exchanging something. He introduced himself as William and gestured to her, his wife Katherine. He smiled and took to bowls from a young man before coming back to her. He smiled easily and she felt herself relax with his presence. “Well, rabbit stew for dinner. They’re heading towards Fort Monroe, hoping someone will take them up to New England. I told them we were heading towards Yorktown as refugees, hoping to make it up to Washington. The Union occupies the entire peninsula, which I guess can be a blessing. But no one is looking for us from what I could gather.”

He flopped beside her and smiled. Mulder held out the wooden bowl to her but Scully shook her head. She scooted over so that she sat between his legs and was able to wrap him around her like a second skin. Mulder smiled, kissed her shoulder and held the bowl between them. Her small deft hands held the bowl as he gently fed her before taking a few bites himself. “Comfortable,” he teased.

“I feel safe.”

He was silent and nodded. Resting his chin on her shoulder, he stared into the golden flames of the fire. His free arm snaked around her midsection, pulling her tight against him. She shivered feeling his presence behind her. “I’m sorry, Scully.”

“For what?”

“This.”

He nodded towards the burned ruins that surround them. She shook her head as he fed her a few bites of the soup before having some himself. “I’m not.”

“Why? Why aren’t you?”

“Why should I be?”

“Well,” he began slowly, his mind ruminating over putting his feelings into words. “This isn’t exactly easy living. We’re on the run, as fugitives…”

“See, there is where you wrong, first off. We are not fugitives.”

“We’re spies anymore now, well, we were. Now we’re refugees. But we aren’t fugitives. We ran for safety,” she whispered into his neck. She pulled his arms tightly around her. “It’s amazing we haven’t been caught.”

“Well, you are brilliant,” he sighed, watching the fire. “I think we are okay, will be okay. Scully, there is no one looking for us, right?” Mulder felt the need to keep repeating Scully’s words because maybe the more he repeated them, he would actually begin to believe. “You said it yourself that the captain is probably dead. You haven’t heard from him in months. We left without saying a word. Who could come looking for us?”

“Your outfit.”

“What? My uniform pants? Mmm. I doubt that. The fever they had with the oncoming armies…” His voice trailed off.

“So, what do we do?” she whispered.

“Well, since you are so worried, new names to begin with.”

“William and Katherine Healey,” she told him automatically. “We’ve already established that. If anyone asks about our rings, we had to give them away for safe passage, which isn’t necessarily untrue.”

He nodded, kissing her shoulder. “What is our story?”

“I could tutor. I know quite a bit. What about you? Schoolmaster? Rugged, handsome farmhand?”

“I always wanted to teach, but who knows,” he murmured. He sighed. “So we travel with new names. Where do we go from here?”

“I’d settle for Yorktown right now, at least for the summer. God only knows how long this offense is going to last and we’ll be safer with the Union occupation. I don’t know if we can make it to Richmond or how. We can stay there and figure things out.”

He nodded, rubbing her arms as she fed him some stew. “One day at a time, Scully.”

… .

Office of the Medical Examiner  
Hampton, Virginia  
December 17, 1998

I remember your eyes, he had told her, I felt like I could fall into forever. I was home.

She blinked, trying to break free of the suffocating thoughts. Scully felt like she was drowning in her past life battling for her present life currently. She was the same person, the same soul, that had experienced multiple lifetimes. It was not being a different person through different lives. She was still the same person, the same soul.  As she scrubbed her hands in the utility sink, she closed her eyes briefly and summoned forth the new-old memories. They had become clearer over the past few hours as Scully became comfortable with the notion that maybe she lived in the nineteenth century. However, one thing was crystal clear, her relationship with Mulder.

“Oh, Mulder,” she mumbled to herself thoughtfully. She scrubbed the webbing between her fingers, scrubbing a bit more vigorously than she usually did till her hands and fingers were raw pink. “You were always there, weren’t you?”

Once her hands were thoroughly cleaned, she snapped on the latex and pushed open the door to the examining room. Her nostrils flared, catching the familiar scent of medical sterility and death, and eyed the covered body on the table in the corner of the room. She blinked.

Scully saw the dead bodies of soldiers, the scent of death lingering in the air, more than usual. She could hear cannon fire. She jumped as if someone had placed their hands on her shoulder. She let her eyes flutter shut.

“I can’t.”

“You saved me.”

Her eyes opened. She could still feel her breath on her neck, the weight of his hands on her shoulders. “Mulder…” she murmured.

“You called?”

She jumped and felt his arm come around her waist, rubbing the loose scrubs against her waist. She instinctively pushed against him to get away so he draped both arms around his waist, holding her in place. He nuzzled her neck uncharacteristically. “Mulder,” she repeated, saying his name more forcibly.

As if snapping out of a dream and immediately dropped his arms away from her waist and stared at her, like he did not recognize her. “Scully?”

“What just happened?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You just put your arms around my waist.”

“I did?”

She nodded. “You did.”

“The man…” He gestured to the steel table that held the murder victim and the words fell from his lips. He lowered his hand. “I could have sworn.”

“Are you feeling okay, Mulder?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” he said, trying to convince himself more than Scully. “I came to tell you what the locals found.”

“Good news, I hope.”

He nodded. “Did I interrupt?”

“I haven’t started yet. What did they find?”

“Surveillance from a bank across the street. He was there at the scene of the murder. Probable cause.”

“Well, we both know he did it, Mulder. It’s just a matter of proving it.” She reached for the recorder and gazed at Mulder. “Are you going to watch me the entire time?”

He nodded wordlessly and looked around, seeing a metal stool in the corner. “Not exactly watch, just observe.” He gave a smile small and she only rolled her eyes and picked the recorder up. “Not a peep, Scully. Promise.”

“Sure, Sherlock.”

She sighed and looked at the time on the wall. “The date is December 17, I am beginning the external examination of…” she paused, looking at the bloodstained wallet. “Katherine Healey.”

Mulder’s eyes jumped up when he heard a tray of instruments going flying across the lithomulumn floor and when he looked up from his perch, he saw the bloodied wallet of the floor too and Scully grasping an empty table for balance. He went over without thinking, grasping her waist and pulling her back to her chest. The move almost seemed practiced and familiar. Scully felt her present self and newly awoken past self battling out for control and eventually the two merged. Scully recognized Mulder as her constant anchor and tore off the bloody gloves in disgust and turned into him.

Mulder was left awed as this seemingly uncharacteristic Scully thing to do. His Scully was strong and nothing could stop her but this Scully seemed crushed by the weight of centuries and did not know what t do. “Dana…” he called hesitantly. “Scully. Come back to me. Come back to the present.”

“That was our name when we traveled,” she whispered into him. “You went by William Healey.”

“Was your mother’s maiden name Healey?”

Her blue eyes, like glistening ice caps, caught him transfixed. “Not in this life.” She licked her chapped lips. “You believe, don’t you? Us? You remember too, don’t you? Mulder?”

“Pieces,” he whispered. “I don’t have an entire lifetime but I remember us. I remember you.”

“Which me?”

“The Civil War,” he replied. “We…we did something.”

“Spied.”

“We spied? Well, Scully. I can only imagine you in leather bloomers.”

Scully took off her latex gloves, smoothed his cheeks, and examined his deep hazel eyes, thumbing back the solid, warm skin beneath her fingertips. “You remember. Tell me you remember, Mulder. Please.”

“I remember us. I don’t remember a lot but I remember that night we…” he voice faded. “We could still have it in this life.”

Scully did not know what overcame her. Her 19th century self finally pushing her 20th century self into the arms of the man she had shared lifetimes with or just raw, overwhelming desire. “Mulder,” she breathed.

They never spoke about that last summer. He cupped her face like he had that summer and she closed her eyes as her thumbs gently stroked her cheeks. She felt her mind wandering, adrift in the sea. “Look at me, Scully.” Her eyes opened and focused on his forest eyes. She blinked, trying to focus on him. “I’m here, in this life  and the last and I will not abandon you.”

“Abandon,” she murmured the word again, it carrying a heavier significance than she thought it would “You never did, not then, not now.”

He nodded. He pulled away but she grabbed his wrists gently and whispered, “I want that, in this life.”

“Nothing more sexier than flirting in a morgue. “He smiled, nodded, and gently kissed her lips softly. “I won’t be far, Scully. Go ahead and do the autopsy. I know you can.”

The silence was tense and there was an electric current flowing in between them that was more intense then she had felt before. Like it was years of being away from her family and finally coming home to him. He smiled slightly and she returned it. “I need to scrub my hands again.”

“I’ll grab us some coffee, okay? Do you want something in particular?”

She pursed her lips. “Surprise me,” she whispered in reply.

“You do every day.”

He gave her a warm, lingering smile as he left the autopsy bay so she could get to work. Scully gazed at her white sneakers and smiled to herself, a new warmth and certainty spreading through her and giving her enough courage to do the rest of the examination.

… .

Mulder exited the rental, carefully balancing two cups of coffee and a blueberry muffin for Scully when he saw the ASAC and Diana exiting another car at the opposite end of the parking lot. He quickened his pace to beat them to Scully so she would not be caught off guard. He had no doubt that his partner would be fine but with how jumpy she was, and if there were really two separate lifetimes now consciously residing in her, she needed to feel grounded. He slipped into the side exit, spying Scully washing her hands and then jotting down something in a notebook. He slid quickly into the same room as her and she looked up with a warm smile. “That was quick, Mulder.”

“Well, as much I would like to savor this, ASAC Benson and Diana are in toe,” he said softly.

She shrugged and gave a soft smile. “Why should that bother me?”

“What’s changed,” he asked softly.

She gazed at him and Mulder knew what had changed. “We belong to each other, Mulder and nothing will change that,” she whispered with certainty. She took the coffee from his hand and grasped it quickly. “I know that much at least.”

“Did you find anything, Scully?”

“Prints,” she said proudly. “I’ll know more once the lab work comes back and I’ll also be able to verify the cause of death, even though it is pretty obvious. But there was a print left at the base of the neck, from choking her. What do you want to bet that it matches up with Buckley?”

“What was that about prints, Agent Scully?” the ASAC voice boomed at the end of the hall.

“I found some on the body, sir,” she answered, taking a sip of the coffee that Mulder had brought her. “I’m having Quantico trace it, but odds are, it is Buckley’s. I’m also having toxicology screenings done to see if we are missing anything. The cause of death was pretty self evident, gun to the base of the skull, brains were blown out. I do not know anything about the caliber but it looks like.44 magnum.” She sipped her coffee again. “I found a sliver of a fragment, likely hollow point, but we won’t know anything until the results come back.”

“Excellent work, Agent Scully. Agent Mulder, did your canvassing of the crime scene undercover anything?”

“Bank security footage,” Mulder answered. “I’m asking the local pd to follow any leads. I amended my profile to help them if possible.”

“Sir,” Diana began, “I honestly do think this is an x-file. I have read his diary personally, I know there has to be something. If Agent Mulder and I could take a crack at it.”

Scully remained stonily silent and her blue eyes glanced at Mulder. Ball’s in your court now, she thought to herself. He glanced at Scully briefly and, for a moment, she thought he was going to agree with Fowley. “I do not have enough evidence to consider the thought. I was brought on as a profiler and I intend to stay as such,” he said. “I need to confer with Agent Scully on her findings.”

Diana glared at Mulder and the ASAC nodded approvingly. “I could not agree more, Mulder. Stay on it. Fowley, I need you to come with me and back to the field office. We need to get to work with the locals.”

“I’ll be there in moment, sir,” she replied coldly, staring at Mulder.

Scully sensed the change in the room and replied, resting her hand on his bicep, “I’m going to change, Mulder. I’ll be out by the car waiting.”

Scully’s motion did not go unnoticed by either Mulder or Diana. It was a clear sign of possession. He glanced at his partner and felt warm. In an instant, his head was swimming, memories of long ago hit him at once and he grabbed her hand to anchor himself to the present. He found her clear blue eyes like a lifeline. “Okay,” he said, releasing her hand.

Scully squeezed his bicep and slipped out down towards the changing rooms and heard Diana’s shrill voice the instant she shut the door behind her.

… .

“What was that, Fox?” she spat.

“What?” Mulder asked, raising an eyebrow. He stalked across the scrub room, glancing angrily at her. “Why do you keep insisting I work with you on the whole past life theory, Diana? There’s nothing there.”

“You wouldn’t be asking if you did not think so,” she countered. “What happened? The X-Files used to be everything to you. What changed?”

Scully, he thought, Scully changed everything. His mind flashed over the past five years. Scully had changed everything in him. She always did, he discovered. Instead, he settled for a simpler answer, still the truth, but not quite the answer she was looking for. “I no longer have the files. I am assigned to background checks, with this being an exception. If you excuse me, I need to find Scully.”

“She doesn’t believe, Mulder. Why do you insist on entertaining her? She only holds back your work, our work.”

Mulder licked his lips and picked up his coffee before walking past her. “Well, Scully’s never abandoned me,” he mumbled quietly. “Unlike some people.”

Diana grabbed his arm tightly. “I never abandoned you.”

“I’m sure,” he grimaced, pulling away his arm.

Mulder saw Scully standing at the end of the hall, sipping her coffee casually with a smug smile. He let himself acknowledge her with his own grin. “Good conversation,” she asked.

“You heard every word, didn’t you?”

“Mmm. Not every word, but the volume carried.” Mulder pressed his hand into her small of her back gently and walked with her. “What’s the next step, Mulder?”

“We have tapes to go through.” Mulder looked at his watch. “Do you want to go back to the field office and go through them or head back to the hotel and do it? It’s about quarter to six.”

“Hotel,” she said. “My feet are killing me. We can borrow a VCR and go through them over takeout. I get to pick though.”

“Pizza,” he guessed, “half mushrooms, peppers, sausage and the rest meat lovers?”

“Chinese.”

“Oh. Sweet and sour chicken, fried dumplings, and peppered steak?” She smiled in reply. “And Diet Coke or Ginger Ale?”

“Both,” she teased.

They walked together in companionable silence and Scully felt Mulder’s hand drift down lower to her waist and rest on it comfortably like it belonged there all along.

… .

Holiday Inn near the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 17, 1998

Mulder jumped lightly into the full size bed with Scully laughing lightly. “So, on tonight’s Mulder’s Mystery Theatre,” he began, grabbing the remote, “we watch the terrible surveillance footage of a bank looking for a reincarnated sea captain from the civil war.”

“Mulder, stop it,” she chuckled, playfully shoving his chest.

“What?”

He snaked his arm her waist, effectively pulling her against him as she laughed, trying to get away. The mood in the air changed and she found herself tracing his face as if seeing it for the first time. She blinked and shook her head. “It’s like,” she hesitated, biting her lower lip, “I am seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you.”

“I hope that is a good thing?” he asked, unsure how to respond.

“Good thing.”

It was. Since earlier that afternoon, Scully’s memories were settling. Her existence in the 19th century, although spotty, she could remember everything from the time she had met Mulder in 1862. She remembered asking him to become his cohort in spying for the Union and fleeing Norfolk on the eve of the Union army coming to occupy.

“Mulder,” she whispered.

“Mmm?”

“I never said he was a sea captain,” she said softly. “Are you remembering something else?”

“Maybe,” he shrugged.

Mulder was reluctant to break away from her, especially with her fingers still tracing his face, like she was trying to memorize every little detail about him or convince herself of the truth in his presence. It was moments like this he wanted to kiss her so much but he held back. “Mulder, hurry up and do it before I change my mind,” she murmured.

“Scully,” he stuttered, “we do have work.”

“Mulder, we both want it. I can feel how much you do. Of all times you choose to be the practical one. Why can’t we? We both remember.” She arched an eyebrow hesitantly. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do!” He grimaced, rolling away, and tried to hide his semi erection with a pillow. Scully titled her head, groaning. “Scully, I can’t. I just can’t.”

“Why? Why not, Mulder? We both know there is something in between us, lifetimes. Why are you turning away from me?”

“I don’t want to ruin this lifetime, like I have before,” he said, “and we both have a job to do.”

“Ruin…oh for fuck’s sake, Mulder.” She sighed and dropped her head. “Fine. Fine.” She pushed away and sat on the opposite side of the bed.”We might as well get started.”

Mulder fumbled with the VHS tape and pushed it in and began to fast forward it as he sat on the edge of the bed. Mulder had his back to Scully but she noticed how his left hand was bunched into a fist and his right handing holding the remote. She sighed and saw how much she was fighting himself. “Mulder,  there is nothing we have not seen before. He’s too smart for that,” she said.

Scully crawled onto her knees and waddled to the end of the bed. She decided to throw caution to the wind and rested her hands on his broad shoulders and push her luck. This felt right and knew she had done this before. He relaxed back into her chest and lowered the VCR remote. “Maybe we should look at the tapes of his interviews,” he murmured.

She bent down and kissed the crook of his neck, trailing small kisses up to behind his ear. “We could,” she said.

Mulder turned his head to greet her with his own kiss. “We shouldn’t, Scully.”

“It’s been so long,” she replied. “Mulder, we are the same people as we were then. Just a bit smarter and wiser. This is a second chance. We’ve been given a second chance to be happy. That’s how I am looking at it.”

“What have you done with Scully?”

She gave a weak smile. “I’m myself all at once.”

He sighed wistfully and nodded slightly after a long moment as if taken over by some foreign force as his professionalism and common sense faded. “A very long time, Scully.”

He remembered the smoothness of her thighs but he had never touched them before in this life. He recalled how her fingers would rake through his hair as she would bite his shoulder that she had never done. “Mulder,” she breathed, “why do I have the weirdest sense of deja vu?”

“I don’t know. Scully, if we do this, there is no going back.”

“Please. I know this is what I want. And I hope, you do too.”

Mulder should have done a lot of things. He should have stopped her. He wanted to take it slow but she had other ideas. There was just so many things. Scully was already straddling his lap and cupped his face between her hands. “I do. I remember the first time, back then,” she whispered. She rested her forehead against hers. “You were so gentle with me that night. And your eyes.” She chuckled. “Oil lamps do bring out the color of them.”

“Scully?”

“Hmm.”

“Shut up.”

He pushed forward, darting his tongue into her mouth and she gasped in surprise before coiling her arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. It was as everything that they had thought it would be. She was the first to pull back as her hands caressed her temples. “Hi,” she whispered.

“Hello there, Miss Scully,” he smiled.

“How do we proceed?”

His hands slipped under her shirt and he smoothed her abdomen and she grunted pleasantly, sitting straighter in his lap and rubbed against his proof of arousal. “Scully,” he warned.

“Sorry,” she smiled. “Don’t be afraid, Mulder. I have more memories of you being…hm.” He had found her breasts and she sucked in a breath tightly. “More adventurous.”

“Memories or imagination?”

“Both.” She bit her lip with a smirk. “I…down in the office…on your desk.”

He lifted her shirt so that her arms were restrained and her face was covered but gave access to her chest. Mulder peppered them with kisses, gently biting her nipple through the thin material of her bra. She chuckled and squirmed in his lap, driving him crazy. He ripped her shirt off and Scully took his off in return, her hands lingering upwards past his abs, his pectorals, and lingering the puckered scar her gun left four years before. She kissed the scar reverently and he hissed in response. “Sensitive, Mulder?”

“Hm. A bit.”  He sighed. “I’ve always imagined this, Scully. This moment.”

“The moment is now,” she coaxed. “Mulder, don’t make me beg.”

“Oh, no. Never.” He rolled her so she was back on the bed, her back facing the headboard. She crawled backward as he stalked towards her. “Are you sure about this, Scully?”

“Yes, Mulder, I am positive.”

He was gentle as he cupped her cheek, trailing his hand across her breasts, down her stomach as she lay backward. He unbuttoned her jeans, never breaking eye contact with her. He felt her breath hitch as he kissed the skin between her breasts over her heart, feeling the strong beating of her life beneath him. She hissed as his hot fingers traced the rim of her undergarments. Her hand raked through his hair as she pulled up his face to look at him. Mulder plunged his fingers into her southern valley and she hissed again if she had been burned.

She had memories of him doing this to her but she had never experienced it herself. “Mulder,” she breathed, “Jesus.”

“Hmmm? Satisfactory?”

“Hmph. More…than. Slow,” she said. “Slower, Mulder. I want to remember. I want to remember every single detail in this life.”

His ministrations slowed and she pressed her hips into his hand as he pushed deeper into her. Scully managed to get off her bra and he smiled greedily at the new exposure. “I did not know you were one to put out the first time, Scully.”

“Shut up, Mulder.”

He chuckled and went to work on her chest with his mouth while his steady hand continued southward. He could hear her chanting his name over and over again. She took a deep breath and bit into his right shoulder. Mulder’s head jerked up and grinned weakly. He withdrew his hand and whispered, “I always wondered what that felt like. You’ve really gone and done it this time.”

“What,” she giggled.

He nodded to the bullet wound and the red bite mark on his other shoulder. “You marked me.”

“I got to show everyone you’re mine.” He laughed and kissed her again. “Hm. I’m getting chilly. Under the covers?”

He rolled off her and he pulled down the blankets. Scully wiggled out of her jeans, aware of Mulder’s hungry glare. “What?”

“Um,” he began, unable to find his words.

He had always imagined this moment, and over the recent days, he began to have memories of it, having yet to experience it. Until now. “What?” she felt herself growing self-conscious. “Is there something wrong?”

“Now,” he coughed, smiling. “You look beautiful, more than beautiful. Perfect.” Scully shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his jeans and bulge. He chuckled and pulled his own jeans down awkwardly. “I have one more thing up my sleeves, Scully.” He nodded to the bed as she scooted back on to the mattress. He wanted to say something more but could not find the words. “Do you trust me, Scully?”

She smiled teasingly and nodded. She turned out the lamplight so the only the tv cast an eerie blue glue across the room. She kept eyeing his own package. But he surprised her by starting and kissing her on the lips and slowly trailing down her chest to her abdomen before disappearing over under the covers. She closed her eyes at the new sensations and his hands gently caressing her thighs, his warm lips and stubbled cheeks moving against her skin. She felt the pressure of her kisses and she was not careful, she would already come. “Shit, Mulder. Slow down!”

He heard his muffled chuckles and felt him pulling down the last of her clothes. She spread her hands next to her and resisted the urge to touch him. Then that wonderful tongue. Oh, the things Mulder could do. She jerked instantly at his first touch but oh, it was so wonderful. His hands kept smoothing and massaging her thighs and hips as she bucked upwards. It was exquisite. She sighed and relaxed into the mattress as a puddle of jelly. He crawled up over her and popped his head from underneath the blanket.He was smiling like a fool, before he settled over her.

“I don’t remember that,” she said, caressing his cheek.

“Mmm,” he smiled, kissing her. “Well, the first time in this life needed to be memorable. You know I ham an amazing tongue.”

“I’d say,” she whispered, “in more ways than one.” This was real, Scully convinced herself, this was happening right now. “Mulder, finish this.”

He entered her quickly and both gasped at the sensation. Below him, Scully merged together, her present and 19th-century selves, and he was falling in love all over again for the same woman he had loved throughout time. By the ethereal gaze in her own eye, Scully was immersed in similar thoughts about him. But he had never known such completeness; neither had she. She shuddered underneath him and lifted her legs around his hip to bring him in closer and wrapped her left arm around the expanse of his back and her right arm around his neck. She kissed him and began to rock with him. It was quick but felt more real than any of their past dreams. At the end, they both broke away with a new understanding and grounding to each other and their world.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More flashbacks. Mulder and Scully begin to remember more from their past.

Yorktown, Virginia  
October 12, 1862

 

Scully brought her wool shawl around her as she held her basket close to her chest and struggled down the muddy main street back to the small farmhouse that she and Mulder shared with an old man and his wife. By now, she honestly thought they’d be in Richmond by now but with the war and the Union’s undying peninsula campaign, she was just happy to be alive and with Mulder by their side. So they went into a small lull of paradise living in Yorktown. In an agreement, they kept up their appearances as Katherine and William, a young couple who had yet to be married. A young couple who had given up their wedding bands in favor of their lives never allowed the chance to marry, with all family dead. But things had changed. Tomorrow morning, despite the union occupation, they were ready to tie the knot, officially, well, Katherine and William were on paper, but it would her and him, as Dana Scully and Fox Mulder, officially husband and wife. But it made her smile. False names, false lives, but her and Mulder were genuine. For the first time in her life, she could remember being happy.

Scully kicked a loose pebble stuck in the mud as she trudged through the main street towards the carriage house she and Mulder lived in on the small farm. As she neared the property, she went to the main house first to drop off her basket from the market. She opened the door and undid her shaw, placing the basket on the kitchen table. “Sharon, I’m back!” she called.

“In here, Katherine. We, um, have a visitor.”

Scully stiffened, her hand dancing around her apron where she wore the knife that she hid in her dress. “Where’s William?” she called, thinking of Mulder.

“With me.”

Well, she thought, if they weren’t dead, then things had to somewhat safe. She relaxed and forced a smile on her face and walked into the sitting room. Mulder instantly rose first, holding out his hand to her. Scully grasped his hand tightly and glanced at the old couple who took them in, Walter and Sharon Skinner, and then the stranger, a familiar man dressed in a Union officer’s uniform. Scully felt Mulder’s arm come around her possessively and she gave a weak smile.

“Charlie," Scully greeted him stiffly.

Mulder loosened his grip on the mention of her younger brother’s name. Scully turned to him and placed a calming hand on his chest. “It’s Charlie, my brother,” she whispered, “we’re okay.”

Mulder focused on her and nodded. Mulder had never met any of Scully's family but he knew their names. Scully rubbed Mulder's arm soothingly. “Charlie, how did you find me?”

“Can we speak in private, Katherine?”

Mulder did not let her go and the old farmer, Walter, stood angrily. “I will not be demeaned in my own house, nor will they! I tolerate the Union Army but I will not be belittled in my own home.”

“I mean you no harm, sir. And my apologies” Charlie bowed in humility. “I have searched for my sister so long. It’s been months since I last received a letter from her.”

Mulder arched an eyebrow suspiciously. It had been months since Scully attempted to write her family. Mulder pulled her closer as Charlie gazed at Mulder cautiously before looking at Walter. “It is okay, Mr. Skinner,” Scully said, hugging Mulder. “This is my youngest brother.”

“Are you sure, Catherine?”

“Yes. I would recognize him anywhere." She could feel Charlie's gaze bearing into Mulder and the fact he held her. "I’ll bring William with me. I wish to talk to him in private.” Mulder’s eyes never left the union officer’s face, staring at him with contempt. “It’s okay, William.” Her hands came out and rubbed his arms. “William. It’s okay.” He nodded. Scully took a deep breath and turned to their benefactors. “We’ll be okay, Walter.”

The bald farmer eyed the union officer wearily. “Sharon and I will be out in the kitchen if yout need anything.”

The three watched the old couple leave before the Union office hissed at Scully. “What the hell were you thinking, Dana, running off with the Union coming?”

Mulder released Scully and watched Scully immediately grow stern, fostering a presence he had only seen in private in between them. He saw a strong and capable woman and he fell in love with her even more and his heart soared. “Mulder,” she began, motioning to the officer, “this is Lieutenant Charles Scully, my contact, and youngest brother.”

"Mulder?" The youngest Scully glared at Mulder. “Dana, this was your contact?”

She wrapped her arms defensively around herself and walked to the window. “Scully, you okay?” Mulder asked softly.

“I’m fine,” she replied, giving him a small smile.

“Dana, what happened to your husband? Your mission?”

Mulder looked at the new stranger. “He was wounded in the thigh during the battle of the ironclads. Damn fool took one of the rifles from my marines to fire on the ship and shore.” Mulder spoke brusquely.

Charlie turned to gather and measure Mulder and Scully stormed in between them. She caught Mulder’s hand gently, instantly calming him and the action did not go unnoticed by her brother. “Where is your husband, Dana?”

“Dead as far as I am concerned,” she shrugged. “I haven’t heard from him since he transferred Mulder to ‘watch over me.’”

“Then why is he still here?”

"We escaped when the Union came to Norfolk. We thought it was best if we ran."

"You letter indicated Richmond. Why are you not there?"

"The opportunity never presented to itself."

"Then why are you still here?"

“I love him.”

Mulder smiled and fought from letting it showed, despite the tense situation, but he remained silent but he loved Dana Scully more than ever. “You love him, Dana? You’re a married woman!”

“I am a person,” she detested hotly. "And as far as I am concerned. A widow. I do not know if Franklin is alive or not. I do not know where he is."

“A fallen woman,” her brother echoed ominously.

“My life is my decision, Charlie.”

“You risk our cause, Dana! All for what? This man?”

“This is the man who got you your information,” she yelled. “He risked everything for is. Isn't it enough I trust him with my life?”

“So much you forsake your own marriage? Who are you now?”

“What marriage?” she answered heatedly. “I hated him. As far as the world is concerned, my husband is dead, Dana Buchanan is dead. I'm Dana Scully once more. And I am to marry Fox Mulder this Sunday, officially, in front of a Catholic priest. I would appreciate if you were there.”

The invitation left the air bitter as Charlie chewed his jaw. "If I could find you, and if Buchanan is alive, Dana, how do you know he won't find you?"

“The question I should be asking is how you found us,” Scully countered.

“Do not turn this around to be about me, Dana.”

“If you found me, what is to make me think we are safe anywhere?” Scully turned to Mulder, fear and worry etched in her face. “Mulder, we can’t stay here.”

“Scully, calm down,” he said softly. He hesitated before reaching out to grasp her hand. His other hand cupped her cheek. He could feel Charlie's scorching gaze. “We’re safe here. No one has found us.”

“How long, Mulder before someone does?”

Mulder glanced at her youngest brother wearily. He debated whether to go any further with revealing his identity. She sensed his hesitation and took his hand. “Charlie is okay, Mulder,” she whispered affectionately. “It would be big brother Bill you would have to worry about. You can trust him. We're safe.”

Charlie relaxed slightly seeing his sister open up to this towering stranger which he regarded with distrust. “Dana, who is this man anyways to you,” he asked, forcing himself to calm his demeanor.

“My real name is Fox Mulder,” the tall man replied, straightening up to his full height. He held out his hand in greeting. “Former lieutenant in the Confederate marines, and before that, a captain in the United States Army, and used to be a spy.”

“You were Dana’s contact,” Charlie asked, shaking the hand reluctantly. “The mysterious ‘M.’”

“M. for mysterious?” He chuckled. He cast a sideways glance at Scully. “Scully, you make me sound more appealing than I am.”

“You very appealing, Mulder,” she murmured affectionately.

“Mr. Mulder, or should I say, Mr. Healey?” Charlie asked.

“Healey,” he specified. “We are a young married couple who never actually had a chance to marry. Officially.”

“Beauty of poor wartime record keeping,” Scully added.

"Right."

“I will be outside with Walter.” He kissed her cheek softly and squeezes her hand. “Just holler.”

With that, he left brother and sister standing awkwardly in the small kitchen. Scully crossed her arms defensively. She gazed outside and watched Mulder walk towards the small outcrop of buildings, waving in greeting to Walter and Sharon. She looked at her baby brother critically. “How did you find me, Charlie?”

“You have a bounty hunter after your...partner.”

Scully overlooked his snide comment. “What bounty hunter? We covered our tracks.”

“Apparently not well enough,” he murmured.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You were supposed to stay put in Norfolk.”

“What good would I do with the army occupying that city? I would have sat there, bored to tears. No, I did what I thought was best. It’s my life, Charlie. Not anyone else.”

“You were always too headstrong, Dana,” he sighed. “What about dad?”

“I did not want to marry that man. He is close to twenty years my senior, Charlie. He is dad’s age. It’s vile. I despised being married to him for several years. He already has nine children. He does not need me for that.”

Charlie looked down at the ground. “Mom would kill from grandchildren, you know that, Dae.”

“Because Missy choose the freer lifestyle, the responsibility of continuing the family line falls on me? I don’t think so,” she said defiantly. “Bill has three children, I know you’re wife is expecting soon, right?”

“We lost him two months ago, Dana."

"I'm sorry," she choked."

He waved off the condolances. "I could not contact you because I did not know where you were. Jesus, you just ran off with some stranger!”

“He is not just some stranger,” she hissed. Scully’s voice took on an edge that held ages’ worth of devotion and love for Mulder. “He is everything to me, Charlie. Everything. I have never felt such life and hope until I met him. I trust him, more than anyone else on this Earth, and not just with my life, my heart as well.”

Charlie gazed at her for a moment. “That’s a lot coming from you, Dae.”

“I mean every word.”

He weighed what he said next carefully. “Does he make you happy, Dana?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

He nodded. “I have duty come a calling. I am stationed here until February but come to the yellow house by the river if you can meet. That’s where I am staying. Maybe I can meet your new…”

“Husband,” she said.

“Husband." He licked his lips. You haven’t actually married, have you?”

“I already told you. We haven'. Yet. This Sunday, hopefully. I want to, but with our names…” Scully shook her head. “We’ll be by. When is convenient?”

“Tomorrow night around eleven. We’ll be safe and have privacy.” He gently kissed his sister's cheeks. “Till tomorrow, Dana.”

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

Scully stretched as she regained consciousness, sleeping lingering around the edges of her perception. She stretched, like she usually did, feeling her muscles stretch but her morning ritual was stopped by a warm solid body pretzeled around hers. With her movement, a large hand from the arm resting around her midsection flexed against her abdomen, lingering over her fresh bullet scar from New York before caressing her skin lightly. Then a soft kiss on her shoulder and a large nose nuzzling her cheek.

It had been real. Not a dream from a lifetime ago.

“Hmph. What time is it,” he grumbled into her hair.

She blinked away the sleep from her eyes and saw darkness except for light from the parking lot lights filtering through the hotel window. “The sun hasn’t even risen yet.”

“Hmph. Go back to sleep.”

“Mulder.”

But he only answered her with a soft snore. Scully smiled and took the moment of silence to take in the moment. Ever since she had reclaimed her past memories of the 19th century, she had dreamed about Mulder, about moments like this. Scully had always some attraction to Mulder. She probably did not remember when it started, likely their first case when she had thrown herself into his arms half naked in fear of mosquito bits when the power had gone out. She remembered his hands smoothing over her back and the shivers she had gotten afterward. Maybe it had been then because that was when the fantasies had started, always starting with the lingering sensation she recalled of his hand on her shoulder.

But now. She snuggled against his chest as he was spooning her from behind. It had been so long since she had been touched like this. Sure, she hugged and kissed her mother but that was obligatory. She yearned for Mulder’s subtle touches, even if she would not admit it to herself, but now. This very moment. It was not a dream. Holy hell. It was real. Last night had actually happened.

She turned with difficulty to face Mulder, his arms hanging around her, their legs entwined in a knot. She raised her hand slightly and touched her cheek lightly with her index finger, tracing his features slowly, as if trying to memorize him and this moment.

They did. They actually did it.

A part of Scully expected a cheerleading squad and the Philadelphia Phillies mascot to burst in her hotel room and celebrate this momentous achievement, but she settled for his quiet breathing instead. She pressed her hand to his chest, feeling his heartbeat strong against her palm. He was alive. He was here. He was with her.

“Mulder,” she spoke softly, caressing his cheek.

His eyes fluttered open and focused on her. He stretched as his hands lazily played up and down her sides. “Morning, Scully.”

“Morning yourself, Hot Stuff?”

“Hot Stuff? Really?”

Scully wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing against him. “Mm-Hmm. I am myself, all at once.”

Mulder was quiet and stroked his hair. “Everything?”

“Well, this lifetime and the last. I remember. Clear as day.”

“Everything?” he asked again.

“Everything,” she confirmed, kissing his lips. “No regrets?”

“No regrets,” he smiled pushing back her hair. “I don’t remember everything, but enough. I remember you. I'll always remember you.”

“I was married to him, Mulder, in my last life.” The words sounded foreign on her lips as she admitted to a past life, but it felt right. “But you. You saved me.”

“We’re key to this,” he admitted softly. “Whether we like it or not.”

“We can’t tell anyone,” she said, resting her forehead against his chest.

“We won’t,” he affirmed. His arms came around like a cocoon and she closed her eyes. His words came from two lifetimes of experiences and love. “There is only you, remember that, Scully. You’re the only one that matters.”

. . . .

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 18, 1998

Mulder watched Scully sit in a conference room through the window, watching the television intently, a file and notepad sitting in front of her. After last night, she quietly told them in their rental car she wanted to watch the interview videos alone once they got to the field office, citing what they had originally intended last night. Mulder was making use of a spare desk out in their bullpen, his original profile and the evidence of his journal from his imprisonment. He sipped the bitter coffee as he hunched over the journal. But Mulder could not bring himself to read Buckley’s personal journal. His thoughts kept drifting to Scully.

He glanced at the conference room across the way and saw his partner before refocusing on the task laying in front of him but he could not focus at all. He rubbed his hand across his face and a memory, unspurned and unhurried flooded his senses, and he closed his eyes. He could feel her tender touch against the nape of his neck...was it from the 19th century or from last night?

I love you, Mulder, she breathed into his ear.

Had she said that? Did she say that?

Mulder felt himself shiver uncontrollably. He felt the ghostly sensations of her touch lingering. Mulder, her ghostly form had called.

His present self-pushed his work forward on the borrowed desk and stormed to towards the conference room where his partner was in. He slammed the door shut, starling her. He drew the blinds closed and looked at her hungrily. Scully causally paused the VHS tape and stayed focused on the television screen.

“It’s chaotic, isn’t it?” she asked

She was still facing the fuzzy television screen and Mulder slouched against the door as if the new memories threatened to crush him.

“Scully.”

He called her name. She flashbacked to a memory from her previous life. Mulder screaming in the middle of the night from nightmares. She remembered, her older self, cradling him protectively, kissing away his tears. “I’m here, Mulder. I’m here.”

When had she spoken those words? This life or the other? She glanced at the closed blinds quickly before cradling his large, lanky form against her. Scully allowed her older self to guide her current body. She held his lanky form against her in a tight hug the best she could. He pressed his face into her neck trying to steady his breathing, clutching her like an anchor to reality. She kissed the nape of his neck and ran her hands up and down his back soothingly.

“Focus on the present,” she whispered, recalling how thinking about Mulder was the only thing that kept her centered. “Think about me. This moment is real, Mulder. This is the present. This is our lives.” She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear. “Last night was real.”

Mulder sighed against her as the rush of memories ebbed to a dull throbbing in the back of his mind as he focused on the moment of Scully cradling him. “I’m sorry,” he managed. He tried to get up but ended up slouching beside her. Scully took his hand and squeezed it. “I can’t...I can’t separate now from then,” he admitted quietly. “I know how you must've felt. After last night, everything’s come back in full force. We were a hot item, Scully.”

“We’re a hot item now,” she murmured softly. Scully slouched next to him against the door and turned her head to look at him. “I know what you mean. It’s overwhelming, isn’t it?”

“How did you do it?” he whispered. “Separating everything?”

“It is not necessarily separated but rather, but blended together. I am myself all at once. And I had you.” She took a deep breath, resisting the urge to touch him. She corrected herself. “I have you, Mulder. I’ve always had you.”

Mulder took a deep breath, focusing on Scully. She caressed his cheek. “We have work to do,” she whispered. “We can work this out tonight, okay? I figured out what Buckley wants.”

“We need to tell the ASAC then, Scully,” he replied.

“It’s not that simple. Mulder, do you trust me?”

“Is that even a question?”

“We’ll talk about it tonight then,” she promised.

. . . . .

Mulder’s head was still swimming as he sipped the lukewarm coffee. Scully sat next to him as she had discreetly rubbed his thigh underneath the table in comfort. He felt himself relax a fraction with the soothing sensation of her fingers running against his suit pants. As they gathered with the rest of the other agents and U.S. marshalls, he cast a glance and noted Diana leaning against a corner with her arms crossed. Her dead brown eyes locked with his momentarily and he looked away, focusing instead A cold shiver passed over him and Mulder squeezed Scully’s hand gently, a silent affirmation. Wordless, she returned the squeeze and let her hand go slack in his under the table.

“All right, everyone, listen up!” ASAC called. “Devins, dim the lights!”

“Yes, sir!”

The lights dimmed and a projector came on, displaying a slide of the gruesome murder scene from Hampton the previous day. Scully could hear murmurs of disgust and even an 'Oh my, God' muttered under someone's breath.

“We are losing time, ladies and gentleman,” he began. “Francis Buckley killed yesterday afternoon. This time in Hampton.”

A new slide flashed in place, revealing the blown out brains all over the concrete. Scully grimaced. “According to the autopsy performed by Agent Scully, the victim was killed, execution style with a .44 round projectile at the base of the skull.”

“Executed more like it,” someone commented.

Scully felt herself shiver, rolling her neck side to side as if to shake the cold feel of metal being pressed against her skull. Mulder squeezed her hand and stood up, walking towards the front of the group. “Buckley is growing more reckless,” Mulder began. The slide changed to Buckley’s original mugshot when she and Mulder arrested him the year before. “Agent Scully and I captured Buckley after he murdered three people. There were no connections between the first three victims and there is nothing connecting the current victim. He was your run of the mill murderer. In the first three, there was something that was stolen like money or a ring, something of value. This was not the case with this most recent murder.”

He took a deep breath and let his gaze linger on Scully before continuing. “He has acted out, lashed out. I reviewed all recorded interviews with him over the past week and he shows signs of mental instability.”

“What about his belief in past lives, Agent Mulder?” Diana spoke up from the back.

Mulder’s hazel eyes darted to the darkened corner and saw Diana standing with her arms crossed, looking expectantly at him. She was challenging and trying to bait him. "And what about past lives, Agent Fowley?”

Scully heard the coldness of his tone and she shifted in her seat to see Diana's reaction. “His journal indicates he is aware of past lives, his own in fact. Wouldn't you agree that has an impact on the current case.”

“Multiple personalities. He has been diagnosed as schizophrenic in the past,” Mulder answered easily, not indulging Diana. “It is not my place to investigate the claims you are insinuating, Agent Fowley.”

“It used to be.”

The entire task force was now caught up in the soap opera drama between Spooky Mulder and Agent Fowley. “I no longer run the X-Files. My job is to catch a killer. Since we are on the topic of mental instabilities, this is a new addition. The thought of multiple personalities is a real possibility.” He looked at the group of agents. “This makes it harder to predict him. In your handouts, you have my updated profile.”

“Thank you, Agent Mulder,” the ASAC nodded.

Mulder returned to his seat beside Scully quietly. “Now, we are going public, hoping someone will have some information. The marshalls are helping us. We are going to hold a press conference and be brief as possible in explaining the situation in the next day or two. That’s it for now. Get to work, people.”

Scully gathered her notes and Mulder did the same as Diana stormed to Mulder. Scully glanced at her partner wordlessly and he whispered, “Why don’t you get our things together,” he whispered. “I’ll meet you out by our rental.”

She heard the tightness in his voice but she nodded, replying, “I’ll be outside in the car waiting.”

Mulder passed her the rental keys and Scully left. Mulder took in the measure of his former partner and ex-wife. Memories blurred for him between what was and what was happening. Scully. Just thinking about her made him feel grounded and centered. He took a deep breath and looked at Diana. “What the hell was that, Fox?”

“What was what?”

Mulder looked at her evenly. “I am here to catch a killer, Diana, not chase wild theories about past lives.”

“You didn’t use to be like this, Fox. I know that look you have in your eye. You are considering the possibility.”

Mulder recalled Scully’s hands against his body from last night and centuries ago. How she made him feel. Alive. Whole. Complete. He tried to push past her. “You aren’t my partner, Diana. Scully is.”

“So you follow her science now? She is holding you back.”

Just the opposite. Mulder recalled the tension between him and Scully and now he knew, he only trusted Scully. No one else. Mulder did not grace with Diana with a reply. “I need to go.”

. . . .

Scully shivered as she turned up the heat in the car as she waited for Mulder to come join her so they could head back to their hotel. The gray overcast sky, which she had just noticed, opened up and began to snow. She sighed, her mind replaying the day. Mulder looked so uncertain, earlier that afternoon when she held him and beheld the same old age in his eyes that she had. She jumped when the car door open letting in him in and he slammed it shut. Mulder silently gripped the steering wheel, the whites of his knuckles showing. Scully gently placed her gloved hand on his forearm as he relaxed. “Scully,” he whispered softly, “I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry?” she asked softly. “For what?”

“I couldn’t protect you. It was my fault. When he caught us in Yorktown. I should have protected the both of you.” He closed his eyes and leaned backward. "I should have protected you."

It took her a moment to realize what he was referring to, her vision of her own execution and he was remembering. She bit her lip and whispered, “It was not you, Mulder. It wasn’t your fault. It’s already done. You didn't cause us to be caught. You weren't the one who killed me.”

“I should have done more,” he bemoaned.

“Take us back to the hotel, Mulder, we need to talk.”

. . . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

Scully recognized when he would withdraw into himself and martyr himself to guilt. He sat on her hotel bed in his jeans and a green knit sweater. Mulder’s legs were crossed as he leaned back into the pillows, his eyes closed in thought, his arms raised, cradling his head, and his eyes closed. Scully wore a pair of black jeans and her University of Maryland hoodie. She sat at the edge of the bed and resisted the urge to reach out and touch him to comfort him. The silence was deafening.

After last night, Scully wanted to act on that new intimacy that they had created (or rediscovered) last night. “Mulder.”

His eyes opened and focused on her. She wanted to do so much more. She quietly sat next to him, closer to the headboard, and wordless brought her hand to his chest, resting it on his heart. The uneasy silence he was unsure how to operate in this new space they had created. Mulder quietly released his arms and wrapped it around Scully’s shoulders and brought her towards his chest. As foreign as it seemed, it felt so natural. Scully relaxed and melted to his side. He sighed, relaxing as she ran her hand lightly across his stomach.

“I don’t know what we are going to do, Scully,” he whispered.

“We need to remember everything,” she replied.

“What do you remember?”

She looked up at him before looking back down, wrapping her leg around his waist and his own. “I was married to him. I remembered this morning. He was my husband for seven years, and you...you were one of his officers.”

“A marine. I remember seeing you for the first time. I felt my heart seize in my chest and your eyes, Scully.”

“What about my eyes?”

“When you walked into the basement office, you looked so cute decked out in that god awful jacket. But, you looked me in the eye and never winced away. Everyone else did.”

“Why would I do that?”

Mulder was safe. Mulder was always safe with her.

She closed her eyes and her mind drifted as a new memory took over. A ship. There were on a ship. No. Not a ship. A hammock? “Well, I tend to make people want to stay away.”

“Lucky for me because I get to keep you all for myself.”

A silence engulfed them as Scully detangled herself from Mulder reluctantly and he was already wishing she was back against his side. “What could you not tell me earlier today,” he asked softly.

Scully blinked, recalling her brief conversation with Mulder. She shifted hesitantly, looking down at the comforter, playing with the hem of her jeans. “How much...how much do you remember, Mulder?”

He sat straighter up and leaned back into the pillows and crossed his arms. “I told you already. Enough,” he answered tentatively.

“You know, in that life, Buckley was my husband,” she repeated in a whisper. “Captain Franklin Buchanan.”

“Who was I, Scully?”

“He was a navy captain in the Confederacy during the Civil War. You were a lieutenant on his ship,” she spoke slowly, watching him close his eyes. She reached for his hand, grasping it lightly. “You saw me in the street once. But it was at a dinner party, and I just knew you had to be the one.”

“What happened?”

“We were spies, Mulder,” she spoke softly. “Well, I dragged you into it, but we were spies.”

“Like Moose and Squirrel,” he teased lightly. “Not that different I suppose.”

She gave a small smile. “Well, after a few months, things between us moved quickly and the Union retook Norfolk. We decided to run.”

“Together.” It was a statement rather than a question. She nodded again. “He wants revenge. Revenge…”

Mulder was already in full profiler mood, analyzing what could and could not be. “I’m going to bed, Mulder,” she spoke quietly.She slid off the hotel bed and kissed his cheek, startling him out of his reverie. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Mulder.”

“You’re not staying?” he asked, surprised.

“We still have a case, Mulder.” She hesitated before placing a brief kiss on his cheek and giving him a cheeky smile before disappearing into the adjoining room.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
October 12, 1862

That night was colder than Scully had anticipated and her thin cloak was failing to keep her warm. Mulder walked beside her small form and she felt his arm come around her waist and pull her closer. She gazed at him knowingly and he just smiled. “You know I’m a rebel.”

“Used to be,” she whispered. “Thank you for doing this.”

Mulder kissed her lovingly as they came to the end of the muddy main street and large white building that sat near the shore of the York River. She felt him grow tense as they approached a fortified area with Union soldiers. She placed a calming hand over his heart as the came closer to the white building and coiled around her slightly like a large shadow. Subtly, she led Mulder up the steps past the Union soldiers as if they were not there. He was quiet as she opened the door and ushered them inside. In the receiving room, Scully saw her brother standing in the common room in front of the fire. Scully patted his chest before untangling herself from him. She took a few steps forward. “Was that really necessary, Charlie? The soldiers?”

“They’re my men, well, Major Howe’s men.” The Union Lieutenant turned to face his sister and took full measure of Mulder. “You can’t be too careful, Dana. How do you know you can trust him?”

Mulder gritted his teeth as Scully turned, to look at him, willing him silently to calm. “Because I do, Charlie,” she replied tensely. “That should be good enough for you. I trust him just as he trusts me. He is a deserter and a spy. I am a spy and if either one of us is caught, we are dead. How did you find me?”

He held up a finger and withdrew from his breast pocket a stack of letters. “They were hoping I would see you since they have not heard from you since April.”

“Well,” Scully huffed, “it was not like I had the time to.”

“Because of him.”

“Charlie, stop it. My choices are mine alone. Mulder had nothing to do with us running except for following me. You detested Franklin. Only because Missy decided to be the free spirit and go to Europe so I had to marry. Bill is the perfect son. Missy is the black sheep. I have to be the perfect child. You can do as you please. How is that fair?”

“You’re a woman, Dana. It’s expected.”

Mulder used all of his willpower to keep quiet. He understood where her brother was keeping from, Mulder understood societal tradition. But Charlie did not know Scully, his Scully. He only knew Dana. He reached out his hand slightly to her in affirmation. Discreetly, she squeezed it while keeping her attention on Charlie.

“If it is expected that in place of my husband’s death to find a new husband than I did.”

“You’re husband’s not dead,” Charlie answered softly, watching Mulder. “Captain Buchanan was promoted admiral and resides in Alabama. He is still recovering from his thigh wound.”

Mulder lowered his eyes in shame. What was he doing? Scully sensed the change and turned suddenly to look at him She cupped his face and suddenly there was only them. She caressed his temples with her thumbs and smiled. “I regret nothing,” she murmured. “Stay?” He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Who are you, Mr. Mulder, to my sister?”

He looked up at Charlie and took measure of the other man. Scully released his face as Mulder grew more confident knowing he had her. “Fox Mulder, former Lieutenant of Confederate Marines, and before that, Lieutenant of the United States Army, adjunct to the war office.”

“Seriously,” Charlie laughed. “Didn’t you graduate from Virginia Military Institute?”

“What if I did?”

“Mulder, it’s okay,” Scully soothed.

“I am not implying anything, good sir. I heard stories about you when I went there myself. I was two years behind you in class.”

“That’s why I picked him, Charlie. He knows what he is doing.”

“Hmph.” The younger Scully stalked to the fire. “Tomorrow night, Dana. I desire to see you again. I want you to come alone.”

“Charlie.”

“It’s non-negotiable, Dana.”

. . . .

Scully shivered and turned into Mulder’s warmth in their small bed above the Skinner’s coach house. He sighed, kissing her forehead as he disappeared and came back with two wool blankets and draped it over their bed. Mulder crawled beneath the blanket and held her as she began to cry.

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 18, 1998

Mulder awoke when he heard a door close. Still groggy with sleep, he sat up only to feel a warm, soothing hand across his chest, resting quietly against his heart. A petite figure crawled beneath the covers of his hotel bed, coiling around him like a snake. He felt the warmth of freshly fallen tears as she nuzzled his chest. His arm came around her instantly. “Scully?” he murmured.

“I love you,” she cried silently. “I love you, Mulder.”

Half raked with sleep and old memories. He pulled her close, remembering an odd night where he had held her in a small bed in some carriage house. “We’re going to be okay,” he whispered, kissing her hair, his own voice sounding foreign, “we’ll be okay. We'll figure this out, Scully. Just you and me, like always.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past and present begin to combine.

Holiday Inn at the airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

It was early. The table side lamp illuminated the red numbers that read ‘4:00 AM’. Scully sat crossed legged in the middle of the bed with files spread before her. In her lap were Mulder’s notes concerning the multiple profiles of Francis Buckley. Mulder sipped coffee from the provided paper cup and sat next to her on the bed. “Anything jumping out at you?” he asked softly.

She shook her head forlornly. “What I remember and what I am reading, nothing adds up, Mulder. I don't know.”

“Hm. Maybe you’re just thinking too hard.” Without thinking, Mulder brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear affectionately before gazing down at the file in her lap. “I still have yet to take a good look at his journal. But don’t forget, they’re doing a press conference today so maybe we’ll have some luck.”

She remained silent, wondering what had provoked Mulder to do such an action, and turned her eyes to gaze at him. He still was examining the file in her lap. “Mulder.”

“Hmm?”

“What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“This,” she whispered, running her fingers through his own hair. The intimacy between them had long since existed but it just felt right between them now. But it was different. Familiar but different. It was deeper than it had been. Or not. But it felt right. “Us. Now.”

He kept his eyes focused on her but gently kissed her fingertips and she felt goosebumps on the back of her neck. “Just because we share a past life does not mean my feelings for you, right now, at this moment, aren’t true.” He gave her a warm smile. "If anything, I have an excuse to say what I have felt for years. My memories..." He drifted off, shaking his head.

“When, Mulder?” she asked, almost afraid to believe.

“I don’t recall when exactly,” he smiled softly. 

“What about you and Diana?”

Mulder sighed, knowing where she was going with this. “I haven’t apologized for it enoguh?” His fingers caressed her cheek. “Have I?”

“You usually don’t. You're stubborn,” she spoke softly. "And prideful. And an asshole

“Hm. I am. It’s a good thing you put up with me. And I am yours, now and forever it seems, Scully.”

“I have to, no one else will.” She closed her eyes. She grimaced. “We haven’t been right since Antarctica.”

“We should be okay,” he continued. “After the hallway.”

“Did you really mean it?”

“What?”

“What you said, Mulder.”

“Every. Single. Word.” He kissed her brow and it felt like it was searing her skin, branding her as his other half, in all the lives they had lived and would live, and did live. “If there is one thing not to feel uncertain about is us.”

“I do,” she said softly. She tried to avert her gaze to the files in front of her but ended up focusing on the closeness of her feet and his legs. “Mulder, I saw you last year, in the hallway right after Gibson Praise’s test results. The way she called you Fox, held her hand. Maybe she is the partner you need.”

“I would not cross half of this globe for her. I would risk assault and battery charges for some little shit of an agent who shot my partner. I would not sell my soul for that woman in order to save her from cancer. I would for you and only you, Scully.” He leaned closer, nuzzled her cheek, and noticed the tears. “Why are you crying?”

“I remember a similar conversation, back then,” she whispered, “and elsewhere. We’re really two of a pair, aren’t we?”

“No returns, I’m afraid. I come as is. Centuries pass the sell by date.” She chuckled. “You weren’t complaining the other night.”

“Well, you are a large package,” she murmured.

“And it’s all yours.” She chuckled and he kissed her tears away. “This isn’t going away, what we have, this is here to stay.” Mulder took her hands. “I made you a promise a 120 years ago, hm, do you remember?”

“Our fake marriage,” she chuckled, her mind flashing back to that day in the Yorktown church. “Well, it was real to me.”

"It was a real marriage, Scully. We were married, for better or worse, that life or this life. We’ll solve this crime and we’ll figure us out,” he promised.

“I don’t want to go backward,” she murmured. 

“We won’t. There is only up from here.” He tapped her nose gently as she smiled. “We need to get ready. We’ll swing by somewhere for breakfast okay?”

“Do we have time?” 

“For you, I always got time.”

“Mulder.”

“You know what I mean. Go get ready. Then I can wine and dine you and style at the nation’s best Ihop down the street.”

. . . . 

 

Norfolk FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

Scully felt off. Unhinged. Unnerved. Like she was being watched. She shifted unnecessarily in her rented desk at the bullpen of the field office. Mulder was nowhere in sight. She straightened her back, bones cracking underneath, releasing unknown tension. She glanced around. No one was staring at her. In fact, just the opposite. No one was paying any attention to her. She saw Mulder, quietly talking with the ASAC near his office preparing the press conference. She saw Diana milling about with a couple of other agents. Her mind went back to earlier that morning.

If there is one thing not to feel uncertain about is us, she thought.

She shuffled papers that held her autopsy findings into a folder and looked down at her hands. The uneasiness continued to plague her mind. She tried to remember when she considered things normal. Six days ago. Was it only six days ago before everything started to plague her? When she stared at Buckley and looked into the eyes of her dead husband? Or was Mulder her husband? Or did she have no husband?

Quietly, Scully gathered her jacket and briefcase and caught Mulder’s eye as she exited the building. He whispered something before excusing himself from the ASAC to chase after her.

“Scully!”

“I’m fine,” she automatically said. She caught herself. “I’m sorry. I need to get out of here, Mulder.”

“The press briefing is about to start in an hour.”

“Mulder, I can’t focus. I’m not of any help right now. I just...I just need to get out of here for a bit. Chase some leads,” she said softly. "Clear my head."

“Leads?”

She gestured between them with two fingers as he nodded in understanding. “Do you want the company?”

“I’ll be fine, Mulder.” She gave a weak smile. “I promise.” He resisted touching her, kissing her, using their newly reclaimed intimacy. She saw his hand twitching at his side in response and discreetly, she entwined her fingers around his hand. “I’ll be back before four. Maybe we could catch dinner at a seafood restaurant in Virginia Beach.”

“A date,” he whispered playfully. “If only I could be so lucky.”

“Shut up. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t be a stranger.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you later.”

. . . .

Nautical Museum Library  
Newport News, Virginia  
December 18, 1998

The adjacent museum reminded Scully of her dad. The history of ships. The outside of the white building was marked by two green, coppery canons in salute. She walked past them towards the library, hearing a tour guide talk about the navy and NOAA currently working trying to raise parts of the Monitor that was located off Cape Hatteras. She shivered at the thought of Mulder fighting that very same ship on the Merrimack over a century ago. She quickened her pace to the library, which promised to the be the largest collection of naval history in the western hemisphere. And hopefully some answers for her and Mulder.

. . . .

Scully did something similar when she was in Tennessee and found pictures of Biddle and Melissa’s past life--what was her name--but she knew now Mulder and she had lived through the Civil War, but as themselves, not someone else in a random county archive. The idea of souls as singular beings, migrating between time and physical bodies. Had they always been Dana Scully and Fox Mulder? She honestly did not want to know. In her mind, memories of her previous life were finally settling among her current life. She was still Dana Katherine Scully, she just had lived two separate centuries. She had lived for endless years in multiple bodies. Unconsciously, she rubbed the base of her neck, feeling the raised skin of the scar that housed her microchip, and she could still feel the base of a pistol being pressed against her skull.

But that was then. This was now.

I'm me.

Before her, Scully had books spread before her and a xeroxed copy of a black and white picture. The librarian commented cheekily that Scully had a lost ancestor. But she what she saw was a mirror reflection of herself, just wearing the hair and garb of the 19th century, and beside her was Mulder, her Mulder, dressed similarly, looming protectively behind her. She thumbed his face affectionately and heard her cell phone ringing.

“Scully,” she answered.

“Hey, it’s me, Scully. Did you, uh, find anything?”

She held up the piece of paper of the copied photograph. Scully had two copies made, a personal one for herself and Mulder. 

“We were married, even though we used false names. We were married.” 

They looked so happy. The only thing that marked it was the difference wit the black and white photography and the period clothing. They looked so...there were no smiles but their eyes showed their happiness, even in black in white phot.

He chuckled. “You want to pick out China patterns?”

“Maybe Pier 1 Imports for starters but I doubt they had that back then. I found one of a picture of us, Mulder. We lived here, in Yorktown. We were happy.”

“We can be happy now.”

Scully closed her eyes as her heart raced, realizing the implications. "We can and will but there is a lot more, Mulder.”

“I know.”

She shifted in her seat. “I found his picture.”

“Did you?”

“He’s old in this picture.”

“Did you find anything else?”

“No. I was the second wife, no children by me, recorded or remembered.” Did she just say that? She sighed. “I…”

Her chest was caught as a new dormant memory came forward. Blood. Crying. Her abdomen had been enlarged. She had been pregnant. Mulder. Mulder’s child. She shifted uncomfortably.

“Scully?”

“I’m here.”

But was she really?

“Mulder,” she began, stopping. She wanted to ask him…

“Scully.”

“I don’t know how he deviated. We were fine. But he…”

“We’re okay,” he whispered. “We’re okay, Scully. We're okay now.”

“Are we?”

He coughed. “Tell me about the picture.”

“Well, it’s old. I have no idea about military…”

“Us,” he whispered electronically in her ear. “Tell me about the picture.”

“I made you a copy. Us a copy really. ”

“Tell me about that day, Scully,” he whispered.

“What day?”

“I can't. I can’t remember. The day we married.”

“We were,” she replied. “But another time. I found information on Buckley, on what happened after the battle.”

“What happened?”

“They transferred him to Richmond, from there, gave him a promotion to Admiral and he commanded the men in Mobile Bay, Alabama. Following the Battle of Mobile Bay in August 1864, he was wounded and taken prisoner. He was released in a prisoner exchange in February 1865…” Scully’s voice died. “It was late April, Mulder. In Williamsburg.”

Mulder was quiet. “I need you to get back here.”

“Why?”

“I have a theory and I need you to back me up on it.”

“Okay.”

“And Scully, be careful.”


	11. Chapter 11

You forgot about me, didn’t you? Honestly now, no one forgets about me. Not really. I remembered reclaiming myself, the 19th-century version of myself. A sea captain. I also remember being a gangster in the roaring 1920s as an enforcer for the Italian mob. I got good at killing and I loved it. I got three lifetimes jiggling around up there and it does get overwhelming. Multiple personality disorder is what the prison doctors diagnosed me. But it’s all me. It’s all me.

But when I saw her and knew. And him. Those bastards.

That bitch.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
October 13, 1862

Scully pulled her shawl tightly around her as she walked nervously along the muddy main street to a small white building, the local tavern. She lowered her eyes as she passed a small group of drunk Union soldiers who whistled at her leeringly. She wrapped her arms around herself, hurrying her steps, wishing she had agreed to meet her baby brother with Mulder by her side. She would feel safer at the very least. She opened the door to the quaint establishment and noticed the soldiers and the few men she recognized from the town. The owner saw her enter and whistled. “You are expected upstairs,” the barkeeper told Scully.

Scully shivered, wishing even more than Mulder was with her. She felt so naked without him next to her. Quietly, she climbed up the wooden staircase to a room that was partially opened, the lamplight illuminating the otherwise dark hallway. She pushed the creaking door open without preamble and saw her baby brother Charlie, in full uniform, sitting at a table with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey between them. “Did you bring him?”

“No,” she said stiffly, “as per your request. I came alone.”

“Drop the act, Dana.”

Scully remained standing, her face cold and emotionless. Despite her short stature, his older sister’s pride poured forth with newfound confidence and authority that had not been there the last time he had seen her.“How did you find me?”

“You weren’t that hard to find,” he shrugged, nodding towards the empty seat. He poured them two healthy glasses. He collapsed in the antiqued wooden chair. “You look...good...given...despite everything.”

“Given everything? Despite everything?” Scully repeated slowly. She circled around the table and took the other glass of whiskey and knocked it back. She poured herself another glass with the recklessness of a man. “What a polite way of saying I fucked up and ruined the family honor.”

“You know the weight of your actions.” He watched her ominously. “You know what you did, Dana.”

“I’m happy,” she answered simply. She walked slowly to the opposite chair, took the glass and drained it in one gulp. “Isn’t that enough considering that I should be counted as a widow. I have not heard from Franklin before I fled Norfolk.”

“Well, you really did vanish. It was rather difficult for me to track you down.” Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Did your Lieutenant teach you that?”

She annoyed the barb and simply decided to be truthful. “He treats me like an equal and does not seem to mind that I can drink him under the table,” she said in reply. “Nor does he feel intimidated by my intellect. Unlike you.”

That was one of the things she loved about Mulder. Even though they acted as a traditional couple out in public and when in front of the Skinners, Mulder treated her every bit of his equal in private. They would read whatever books they could together and debate it over dinner. Mulder valued her intellect and opinion and was the only person who did, ever. Her family supported her studies but stopped when it came time for her time to marry at seventeen, they cast her aside to her new and awaiting husband, like tradition dictated... Scully doesn’t still know how she managed to put off her marriage to the Captain for so long but she did. But Mulder...Mulder was different. She sensed that about him the moment she met him at that dinner party. That’s why she took him to her bed that night, made her decision to take things into her own hands, and live happily with Mulder instead of in misery.

Charlie took his own glass and swished it around. “You were always the smartest of us, Dae. Bill the most loyal, Melissa the free spirit, me the clever one…”

Scully snorted. “Clever? Please. You could just talk your way out of trouble. How did I get stuck with the extra penmanship lessons and you didn’t? The exploding inkwell was all your doing if I recall.”

“No. That was Missy” he corrected with a smile, “I’m clever, but you, Dana, you were always the smartest.”

She snorted uncharacteristically. “You don’t like Mulder. You look just like father, Charlie.” She collapsed in the wooden chair, tucking her skirts under hair. “And stop looking at me like that.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t appreciate you judging me.”

“You betrayed your marriage.”

“He makes me happy. Isn’t that enough? It was like pulling teeth with him to make him turn, but once he did...Charlie, I found a kindred spirit.” She sighed, downing the liquor. “I’m happy.”

“Who did the deed?”

Scully blushed. She remembered that fevered night the first time they tasted each others flesh. It had been unlike anything else that she had experienced. “It does not matter, but after Franklin left…” She sighed. “Franklin ordered Mulder to stay behind, to take care of me, to ensure I would be safe during his absence. That was when the invasion… then things happened. It was mutual, between us. He is a truly good man, Charles. I love him.” Scully took a deep breath and steadied herself. “He comes from a good family, Charlie. He’s honorable and just. He’s a good man.”

“Who are you trying to convince, Dae? Me or yourself?” Charlie poured another round between them, took his glass, and slouched in the chair. He looked at the cloudy amber liquid in his glass. “Despite our happiness,” he sighed, “you know how we were raised.”

“Duty before anything else,” she sighed bitterly. She sipped the whiskey. “Have you ever loved someone so much that it hurts?”

“Once. Maybe. I don’t know.” Her brother shook his head slowly. Scully was aware of both of her brothers’ marriages, how traditional they were and how Melissa disappointed their parents’ expectations, and how she was left bearing the torch. She followed it, for awhile, until Mulder. Scully took her brother’s silence as a ‘no.’ “Before Elizabeth, there was a girl from school but she...she was married before I could do anything.” He came aware of himself. “Stop changing the subject, Dana!”

“Charlie,” she began, “you asked me to spy. How many rules and traditions did you expect me to break without consequences? You lecture what I should do, who I should be.” Scully sighed. “You don’t understand. You’ll probably never understand.”

“Your husband’s alive, Dana.”

Like a bullet piercing it, Scully felt her heart skip a few beats. “What do you mean?”

“He’s in Alabama. Buchanan was promoted to an admiral,” Charlie spoke softly, watching his big sister’s stoic expressions. “Rumor has it that a new ironclad is to be built.”

“How does that concern me?” Scully focused her gaze suddenly on the opposite wall. God, she should have brought Mulder with her. Mulder. Just focus on Mulder and everything will be okay. “He left.”

“You need to go to Alabama to finish the mission.”

“I need to go?” Scully hissed. All of her emotions welled up inside her. “I will not go anywhere without Mulder. There is no mission without us!”

“You don’t know the man, Dana! How much do you trust him?”

Scully closed her eyes, unfamiliar fury working its way through her veins. When had she grown so bold? “I have always been the dutiful daughter, the good daughter. I have never once questioned my role in the scheme of things or done anything by myself. But for once, Charlies,” she spat, slamming her glass on the wood table, “I want to be happy. This is my life. My life. My choices. Franklin left me, abandoned me, and appointed Mulder as my guardian. But despite everything, Mulder is a better husband than Franklin ever was. Mulder...I love him, Charlie! More than you can ever imagine.”

“What about your country?” her brother pressed.

“Country?” she scoffed. “Which one? America or the fake Confederacy? Both sides are bloody. This war is nothing but a waste of human life.”

“Don’t go on sounding like one of the pacifists.”

“I’ve seen the destruction,” she continued, standing to her feet. “I’ve seen the fear. I’ve seen the suffering. All you have seen are the soldiers. What about the poor family who lost their father? What about the people who have lost everything?”

“What about the war effort, Dana? I thought that was what mattered to you?”

“What good is a war if there is nothing to believe in, Charlie?”

“You have a husband, not a lover. You are married, Dana. Even though your duty is to the country, it is also to your husband, and to God.”

“I am a widow. My husband is dead.” Scully swore. “Duty to my country, the United States of America, which is currently split in a bloody battle and my husband, my dead husband--” Scully laughed bitterly. “I married him because it was what our father desired, and I was Franklin’s second wife. He already had nine other children by his first wife. I was a social decoration. He doesn't love me, maybe once, but not anymore. He left Mulder to quote ‘take moral charge of me’ because I am a weak female. And he has not sent one word…”

“You ran, Dana,” her brother reminded her.

“I could see the light from across the river from the fires burning last year. I could only imagine what would happen.. We feared for our lives,” she began. “We were going to try for Richmond but we only got this far. We are waiting.”

“You need to continue our mission and go on without him.”

“What mission,” she hissed. “There is no mission without Mulder.”

“Your husband is alive, Dana! Rumor has it that they are laying a foundation for a new ironclad that we must know about.”

“I can care less!”

“What the hell, Dana?!?! Who cares about that traitor rebel?”

“What about Mulder,” she whispered, her voice become fragile. I care, she thought, I love him. “How would I explain him coming with me if I do? To continue the mission?”

“There is no Mulder. He does not a part of the plan, Dana.”

The words seemed to have finally sunk in. “So, what? You’re asking me to abandon him?” Scully asked incredulously. “After all he has done for us.” For me, she added mentally. He saved me.

“He was an asset and a deserter. A coward,” Charlie continued, grinding into her nerves. Charlie used to be the supportive one of her big sister, normally keeping his thoughts to himself while their big brother Bill had always been the hypercritical one. “And a rebel.”

“You don’t know him like I do.”

“Dana, he is an asset,” Charlie repeated. “I could care less about him. He is not my big sister, you are.”

Scully poured herself another glass and stared at it in thought. She could not imagine anything else with Mulder. In the short few months that they had been together, she was truly happy, a real happiness and love she had only read about in one of her books. Charlie shifted and sighed. “I am here until the end of November, Dana then I am heading home to Baltimore to mom for Christmas. Melissa will be there, and Bill and his new wife. It would be nice if you were to accompany me.”

“What of Mulder?” she asked in a quiet voice.

“Well, I guess the ultimately depends on your decision.”

She could tell her baby brother just gave her a veiled threat. She stood, dusting her skirts. “Thank you for the whiskey.”

She gathered her shaw and left coldly, out the door and into the muddy road. She felt stinging tears in her eyes as she hurried her steps to the small Skinner farmhouse, breezing passed Sharon Skinner and her husband and out back to the carriage house where she knew Mulder would be. He sat at the small table against the wall. There was a small fire going that he had made. He looked up with a warm smile but it slipped when he saw the heaviness in her blue eyes.

“Scully? Are you okay?”

She shook her head. She took off her shaw and hung it on a stray hook. “Mulder, do you love me?” she asked quietly.

“What sort of question is that?” he asked hesitantly. What was she doing? “Scully? Is there something wrong?

“Just answer me, Mulder! Do you love me?” she snapped. He took a deep breath and got up from the chair, stalking slowly towards her. She felt uncomfortable suddenly and backed against the door. He continued to stalk towards her until Mulder invaded her personal space and he rested both arms around her, encasing her against him. “Mulder,” she murmured warily.

“I would die,” he began, “before I let any harm come to you. You, Scully, are my guiding light. My guiding star.” She clenched her eyes closed and buried her face between them. “I love you, so much, it hurts, Scully. I would not through my life away from anyone else but you.”

The weight of the words hit Scully full force. Mulder was already an outcast and he had given up everything, literally, everything for her, including his honor and reputation and she knew that he would still bear the brunt of any accusations they faced to keep her honor intact. Charlie’s words echoed ominously, that she had to leave him, but her heart already knew the answer. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. “I will never abandon you,” she cried.

What had happened, Mulder thought sadly to cause this reaction. He hugged her tightly and she clung to him. “We’re okay, Scully.”

“I love you, Mulder,” she hiccupped in his ear.

“Why are you acting like this? What is wrong?”

“Not now,” she whispered, kissing his forehead. “Not tonight.”

“Scully, what did your brother say to you,” he continued to press. “Please tell me.”“Not tonight,” she whispered quietly, peppering his face with kisses. “Tonight, I want you to make me forget this war. Make me forget everything about it. I just want to feel you and pretend we were never married to anyone else before each other. I just want to feel like that we are the only two souls in existence.”

He nodded, understanding her request. If it was in his power to make her forget this war and everything hung over them if only for a brief few hours, he would do it. He would do anything for, including falling on his own sword in her name.

. . . .

Mulder spooned behind her and blanketed his body partially her own smaller body beneath the thick comforter and wool blankets. The fire in their small room was partially dying and Mulder was dreading getting up naked in the stark air to add more wood to the dying flames. Scully tugged his arm slightly and whispered, “Just a few seconds longer.”

“A few seconds longer and our toes will be ice later,” he murmured, kissing her unruly red hair. “A minute at most.”

Scully watched him wearily, his long back dancing in the shadows of the firelight. She could see her nail marks across his shoulder blades. He tossed a couple of logs onto the fire before shuffling back into the bed and swallowing her again. “Cold,” she huffed humorously.

“I could do that thing with my tongue again,” he murmured into her ear mischievously.

“Where on Earth did you learn that anyhow,” she breathed, writhing against him in memory.

“What do you think I was reading? It’s from a French author,” he nuzzled her neck. Scully sighed as he coiled tightly around her. “You wanna tell me what was wrong, Scully?”

“Franklin is alive, Mulder,” she confessed, barely audible. She felt him tense before pressing a possessive kiss into the back of her hair in response. “This doesn’t change anything?”

“No, not for me.”

She felt tears of relief in her eyes but her heart was still heavy. “Charlie told me this. But there is more, Mulder, he expects me to continue my original mission, spying and bringing intelligence to the Union army. Franklin was promoted to an Admiral and Charlie expects me to go to Alabama to be with him.”

“Where do I play into all of this?”

“You don’t, apparently,” she whispered.

She tensed against, waiting for the disappointment, as Mulder ran his large warm hand up and down her thigh. “You never once have said you are doing it yourself.”

“What?”

“Charlie is telling you what you need to do. You have not declared your own actions yet. That is what I love about you, Scully,” he said softly, kissing her. “You are capable of making your own decisions. I just hope that I factor into them somehow.”

“You do. You always do. There is no me without you. There is only us.” She heard his uncertainty. Slowly she turned to face him and caressed his cheek. “I just don’t know how yet, but there is no future without you. I’m not going back to Franklin. I just...I just don’t know what I can do.”

“We,” he murmured softly. “We’ll figure out something.”

. . . .

Norfolk City Morgue  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

There was another body. Another murder. Another death that should have been prevented. She should have stopped him, not examining these deathly remains. Scully pulled the rubber apron over her blue scrubs and lowered the safety glasses and pulled on the medical mask. She stretched the latex gloves over her hands for the most secure fit. Glancing to the side of the medical bay, she saw Mulder hovering nearby, wearing a mask of wrought of concern, not for the case but for her. She arched an eyebrow sarcastically and he gave her a small smile. There was no future that did not include him. She remembered it saying it in the past. Her present self believed it.

“How bad,” Scully asked as she came to his side.

“Same M.O. My profile just more complicated. I can’t…” Mulder sighed and lowered his voice. “I can’t draw a complete profile with these specific actions. I need more.” More? As if reading her, he shook his head. “Not just then. And now. But in between. There has to be more. Did your research uncover anything else?”

“Maybe the prisoner of war camps,” she whispered, watching the ASAC and Diana Fowley enter. “I’ve read the thing but I can’t be certain.”

“We need to talk tonight,” he murmured in her hair discreetly. “I’m remembering more. By the way, you look adorable in the surgical mask.”

Scully felt herself smile. “Do you remember the French book you read?”

He licked his lips and smiled deviously. “That’s probably where I learned my, and I quote, ‘amazing tongue antics,’ and my love for sunflower seeds. I perfected it for you.” Mulder desperately wished he could comfort Scully. Instead, he squeezed her forearm. “Call me, if you need anything. I’ll be a few blocks away.”

“Are you going to try and finish the profile,” she murmured.

“Revise. The more I remember, the more he does, more connections and explanations are created. I need…” He took a deep breath. “I can’t find the answers.”

“You can,” Scully countered, glancing at Fowley. “I’ll call you. Okay?”

“I’d kiss you if I could.”

“I know. I would too. You just want to make all the other girls jealous.”

He smiled tightly. “Just call,” he reminded her. “I’ll be here.”

“I know you will.”

Mulder squeezed her forearm before leaving wordlessly out the back before Fowley and the ASAC could chase him. The past had cleared her head and made her feel more capable in the present. All the past months’ doubts about her and Mulder and the crone-bitch Fowley, she knew that Mulder was hers. Loyalty and love ran through time and souls. Fuck that bitch.

“Agent Scully,” ASAC Benson called. “We’re glad we caught you! Have you had a chance to perform the autopsy yet?”

“I haven’t had a chance to look at the body much less perform an autopsy.” She began. Thank God she was wearing a surgical mask to hide her facial features. “Agent Mulder is reworking his profile. Is there anything substantial you can tell me about this body?”

Diana was glaring at Scully (of course she was). “Same M.O. as the last body. Shot at the base of the skull, execution style.”

“Wonderful. How was the body identified?”

“Fingerprints. Buckley is not making an attempt to hide his work,” Diana continued, watching Scully was she readied her instruments.

“I would suspect not, after how he blatantly left his signature all over the last crime scene.”

“What does Agent Mulder think,” the ASAC asked.

“He’s unsure. He is going to revise his profile from a new angle.”

“Past lives. There has to be something with past lives,” Fowley interjected. Scully bit her tongue and readied her tape recorder. “Buckley wrote a journal which makes a mention of past lives, three exactly, which Agents Mulder and Scully make mention of in their report.”

“We mentioned he suggested such a notion. Agent Mulder and I concluded schizophrenia or some sort of mental illness. The report clearly shows that.” She knew the report. Fowley was not going to take that from her. “Agent Fowley is mistaken in her interpretation.”

“What is Buckley’s motivation then?”

Scully felt herself growing distant as she turned on the tape, refusing to answer the question. “This is Special Agent Dana Scully. The date is December 19, 1998, at…” She glanced at the wall clock. “9:37 a.m. I am about to perform the external examination of…” Scully paused, coughing slightly. She took a deep breath. “Katherine Buchanan, aged 31, white caucasian, red hair.” She opened the cadaver eyes. “Blue eyes.”  
. . . .

Mulder watched Scully from a distance before getting into their rental car. Scully would be safe here at the morgue with the other agents around her. Buckley would not be able to get to her. She would be safe. Mulder remembered the uncertainty and cloudiness that Scully described as the memories of her former past life, but the memories eventually settled and the secondary consciousness merged with his current one. The more he remembered, the more he loved Scully and the worried he became too.

In the car, Mulder withdrew a file with xeroxed portions of the journal, looking at mentions for times of being in Alabama and in a prisoner of war camp. After Scully called the other day, he did some research of his own, specifically about the prison camps. Personally, he had no recollection about such prisoner of war camps. He had been lucky. He and Scully eventually hid out the rest of the war as civilians or tried, so that when everything was said and done, they could have had a life together. Could have. They did. He remembered the look of terror in her eye as she confided remembering her own murder by Buckley (or was it Buchan?) over a century ago. Maybe he could have suffered something that caused him to mentally snap? Why about the anger? Was it directed towards him, Scully, or both of them? There had to be more. As he flipped through the copied pages, another name, Frankie Luciano, and mentions of speakeasies and prohibition. Mulder made a mental note to make a call to the FBI archives back in Washington.

He jumped when he saw Diana knocking on his driver’s side window. Reluctantly, he lowered it half way and raised an eyebrow. “What, Diana?” he asked her.

“You’re considering the past lives theory, aren’t you, Fox?”

Mulder set his jaw and looked at the road. “Again, Diana, profiling is not your job, it’s mine.”

“Why don’t you let me help? Agent Scully does not believe like you or I do. She is not open to the possibilities like we are,” Diana said. She held up a folder enticingly. Mulder eyed it like the snake offering the apple of knowledge. “This might be what you are looking for.”

He made no move to take it. Diana could not be more wrong. “Are you going to tell me what is in that file?”

“Mmm,” she smiled seductively and he frowned. “Come on, Fox. You know I have invaluable insight.”

“I’m certain you do,” he murmured, his mind flashing to Scully and the looks of revulsion she would no doubt give him if he did help. And now, with their trek into familiar, unknown territory and newly blossomed intimacy between them, he did not dare wreck that. “Excuse me.”

He rolled up the window, silently proud of himself in displaying a newfound willpower to ignore her siren calls. He shifted the car into gear and began the short drive back to the FBI field office, his mind dancing at all sorts of different possibilities

. . . .

Scully had performed a variety of autopsies. She had cut open old and young, men and women, adults and children. She had seen everything from alien viruses to heart attacks to the most violent ways possible. She had seen bodies tortured and mutilated. Hell, she had even examined an elephant that had been abducted by aliens. As a forensic pathologist and an FBI agent, she had to keep a cool exterior. There had been some that troubled her. Exhumations were never pleasant. Having to examine the polydactyl sisters and seeing her own daughter Emily on the table instead still haunted her. But this. This unsettled her just as much.

The victim, Katherine Buchanan, with red hair and blue eyes. The messages could not have been clearer. Obviously, he was trying to tell her something. A warning. Or simply that her time was coming. The victim’s body had been mutilated and desecrated, fortunately, Scully thought, she had died early on and did not suffer. But Buckley had continued, carving her body like a Christmas turkey. She had seen work similar to the mob, usually as a retaliation or to send a warning, when she had first been at Quantico. She had read how hitmen took pride in their work. Hell, she had even remembered seeing an article in one of her medical journals tracing the history of such violent killing tracing all the way back to Jack the Ripper.

But this...none of it made sense. Buckley was being careless. Or deliberate. Scully and the crime scene techs found his fingerprints all over the place. The technique of the killing, it was like Buckley had knowledge of the mob or of being a hitman, but none of it made sense. Scully cast one last glance at the covered body and peeled off her gloves and tossed them in the medical waste bend. She took off her safety glasses and gathered her tips and medical files wearily. She wanted nothing more than to take a hot bath and fall asleep in her bed, preferably with Mulder coiled about her.

“Agent Scully!”

She felt physically tense as she heard Fowley’s voice. She forced a smile. “Yes,” she sighed, “Agent Fowley,” force the smile, “what can I do for you?”

“Have you concluded your autopsy?”

“Yes, but the ASAC will have to wait. I still to write my findings down in a report.”

“Did you find anything noteworthy?”

“Aside from the violence post-death, then no. Agent Fowley, if you will excuse me, it’s been a long day for me. I would like to retire early. If you’ll excuse me.”

She turned to leave but Fowley held out a file. “Those wounds look like the work of someone in the mob, don’t they? And the victim, the victim looks an awfully like you, Agent Scully.”

“Coincidence,” she whispered dismissively. She was growing uncomfortable with Fowley’s presence. “What do you want?”

“I have information. I tried to give it to Mulder, but he dismissed it. I thought you would find more use for it.”

“I’m sure Agent Mulder had a good reason.”

“He mentions a past life as a mob strongman during the 1920s.”

Scully was quiet, measuring her words. “I suspect that might be more useful to Agent Mulder’s profile rather than my autopsy. If you will excuse, Agent Fowley, this report is not going to write itself.”

She gathered her notes and materials to her chest and walked quickly out of the door and down towards the locker room where her clothes and possessions were. Her mind was already trying to make sense of the new information and how it could impact everything. Quietly, she had begun formulating a theory and had yet to share it with Mulder. He obviously wanted revenge. He shot her, execution style in March 1865 in the back of her neck with a revolver while Mulder watched on. But the other victims...what was he trying to say? The first victim was shot like she had been. The second victim reminded her of her 19th-century doppelganger self, but the style of the killing and the mutilation post-mortem was worse. She shivered and opened the locker door, looking for her cell phone, and hit the speed dial number one.

“Mulder.”

“Mulder, it’s me,” she spoke quietly.

He was quiet on the other end of the line, likely noting the shift in her voice. “Scully, is everything alright?”

“I...I don’t know, Mulder. Where are you right now?”

“At the field office. Are you ready for me to pick you up?”

“Yeah.” She took a deep breath to steady herself. “Um, we need to talk about the profile. My findings today…”

“Scully, what is it?”

“That could have been me,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to ensure she was alone in the room. “Mulder, he is trying to bait me.”

“Scully,” he called her name again. “You don’t know that. The second victim bore an uncanny resemblance but…”

“Her name, Mulder. Katherine Buchanan? That is no coincidence, it’s deliberate,” she pressed. “Remember William and Katherine? I’m surprised no one else has connected the dots.”

“Well, not everyone remembers their past life,” he soothed. “We do. Scully, I’ll be there in a half hour. Try and calm down. He isn’t making this personal.” Mulder paused, sounding utterly unconvinced of his own lie. “Just sit put.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” she replied, glancing at the medical files. “I’m not going anywhere.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
December 10, 1862

“I’m not going anywhere,” Scully said, drawing herself to her full, small height as her baby brother Charlie sighed heavily. “I’m not leaving, Mulder. I don’t want to go back to Franklin. I don’t want to go back to the war and spying. I am not leaving him”

“Dana, you are talking nonsense.”

“You gave me a choice, Charlie and I choose Mulder.”

“I didn’t actually think you would go through with it,” he scoffed.

In the same small room of the inn, brother and sister stood and opposite ends like chess pieces. Queen takes bishop. Check.

“It’s my life, Charlie,” she said. “Do you know how unhappy I was with my life during the past seven years? I was miserable. Mulder has saved me in more ways than I know!”

“You’re using personal motive to disregard the larger fight. We can make a difference!”

“I did it so I could in the beginning, but it’s just not worth it to me anymore,” she said simply. “I watched the ironclads battle in that river, I saw hysteria grip Norfolk at the impending invasion from the Union army. I have heard the stories of bloody battles. I do not want to be a part of that anymore. Can’t you see? There’s much much more to life than this bloody war! I have a life with him, with us, there is so much potential!”

“So, what would you do? Stay here and be a farmer? With Mulder?”

“If I must. I’ll do anything to stand by him.” Scully shook her head angrily. “These people need help right here! I see countless refugees, civilian and freed slaves and the like come through here looking for a new life. I could help! I could teach! Do something. I don’t want to be a part of this war anymore. I want to help people rebuild.”

“Is that deserter Mulder talking or you, Dana?”

“It’s my life. I’m not going to Alabama. I’m staying here.”

Charlie drew a deep breath and finally nodded in resignation. “I guess, I guess I’ll see you when the war’s over then,” he said softly.

“Have you figured out what to tell mother?”

“I’ll think of something. Just keep in touch.”

Scully knew what he was saying. This goodbye could be the last or maybe, with the war over, she might be able to return home and face her family with Mulder as her new husband. But likely, she would never see any of her family again. “I’ll write Missy if I can, send word if I’m okay,” she said softly.

“I’ll let her know. What name will you be using?”

“Healey. Katherine Healey.”

“Mom’s name.” He nodded and gave a sad, wistful smile. He hugged his big sister and dipped his head. “Merry Christmas, Dana.”

“Be safe, Charlie.”

“Before I leave tonight, I will leave instruction with the commander of the garrison how you desire to help teach the refugees and the freed slaves. That way, you can begin rebuilding in your own way.”

“Thank you.”

He smiled. “Goodbye, Dana.”

She watched him don his officers cap and button up his overcoat and go out the door, down the stairs, and out into the night. Scully suddenly felt smaller, more alone. No one told her being brave and standing her ground could be so lonely. She pulled on her cloak and gathered her gloves and headed down the stairs and out into the night.

The main street was still muddy. It was always muddy. The mood was always cold. Sad. She looked up the night sky, wishing to see the moon and stars, but she only saw black clouds. And then a single snowflake. And then another. And then another. She closed her eyes as the first cold flurry hit her face and melt in the tear tracks that slid silently down her eyes. As she trudged back to the carriage house on the Skinners’ farm, the snow had grown heavier and had begun sticking to the ground. By the time she arrived back at the carriage house and lumbered up the stairs, she saw Mulder lounging on their bed, reading a book in the candlelight while a warm fire crackled across the room. He heard the door close and he dropped the book and sat up in bed.

When he saw the tears streak down Scully’s red cheeks, he knew. She picked him over her family, duty, and honor. She had chosen him, the deserter and loner from a conflicted past. “Scully,” he managed, unable to utter anything else.

She took off her cloak and gloves, let lose her dress and stockings and pillaged one of her nightshirts. Wordless, he opened the covers beside him and got ready for bed himself. One of the things he admired between them was their ability to excel at wordless communication. Once beneath their heavy blankets, she coiled around him for dear life and let the tears come. He held her tightly, kissing her unruly red hair, silently vowing to take care of the only family he had left.

. . . .

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

Everyone else had gone home for the night except the graveyard shift who continuously monitored for the activity for Buckley. In a small conference room, over cold coffee and candy bars stolen from the vending machine down the hall, the partners sat across from each other in silence. Mulder flipped through Scully’s autopsy findings, taking particular care to read over her descriptions of the mutilations to the poor victim’s body. He felt his stomach flip sickeningly as he looked at the multiple stab wounds and carving Buckley had done to her body.

“Was she alive during all this?” he asked quietly.

Scully pursued her lips and shook her head. “She bleed out through her femoral artery. One of the first strikes he did. Sadly and as cold as this sounds, she died quickly before she could suffer anymore.”

“Your opinion, Scully, does Buckley know what he is doing?”

“Yes and no.”

“What does that mean?”

“He knows how to inflict pain,” she whispered, “make people suffer. I’ve seen similar cases of mob deaths when I was working on my residency in pathology. But he does not have the finesse knowledge. I believe he knicked the femoral artery accidentally while trying to...uh, mark her thigh. The most I can speculate is that the blade is a standard chef’s knife, nothing special, and likely impossible to trace.”

“And this has to do with another past life as Frankie Luciano?”

She shrugged. “Fowley seemed convinced.”

“She came to me, right before I left, offering information.” He tented his fingers in front of his face. “I refused her of course. But it didn’t stop me from doing my research.”

“You refuse her? Why?”

He just gave her a small, reassuring smile. “Well, I went back and looked at his journal. He mentions a name: Frankie Luciano. There was a small time, very violent man, attached to to the Big Seven Group during 1929 prohibition up in New Jersey.” He passed her an old copy of a xeroxed book sheet with an ugly man with a face of a bulldog. She narrowed her eyes. “What?”

“It looks nothing like him, Franklin or Buckley, except maybe...his eyes. He has the same eyes.”

Mulder nodded. “His journal mentions strange dreams that later become memories. Ring a bell, Scully?” Her eyes rose and met his and he nodded, answering her wordless question. “Just like us. What I don’t get is how come we have our same names instead of different ones? Were we always ourselves?”

Scully dug into her briefcase and passed him the picture she had found earlier at the museum in Newport News. He took it reluctantly and broke out into a smile when he saw it. “It is real, Mulder. We lived in the 1860s. That picture could have been taken yesterday as far as I am concerned. It is us.”

Mulder examined the picture with some fondness. Taken in the style of the times, it showed an 1863 Scully sitting formally in a chair with him, with short hair and a beard, resting his hand on her shoulder with her hand resting on top of his. Neither one of them smiled but it was them. “What else doesn’t make sense is how we look the same,” he continued. “Don’t you think?”

“It’s like looking in a mirror.” Scully shifted uneasily in her seat. “Even though we’re an adorable couple.” They both chuckled. “What started as dreams are as clear, crystal clear, as a memory to me, Mulder and I can recall them as easily as my own. And I know they are mine but I’m still me. I’m still Dana Katherine Scully, medical doctor and FBI agent.” She looked down at the picture of the 1920s criminal and then back to Mulder. “Does that make sense or am I just crazy?”

“Must be because you’re making perfect sense to me,” he teased lightly coaxing out a small smile out of her. “But this, Scully we can’t ignore. We have to bring to the attention of the ASAC and the rest of the task force.”

“How do we do that without making us sound crazy or bringing up past lives?”

“We may have to bring up past lives,” Mulder said, “just not ours.”

“Diana suspects something.”

“I know she does,” he sighed. “You remember from the Apison case, you suggested multiple personality disorder? I think we might be able to suggest something similar: schizophrenia. He’d already been diagnosed before we caught him. Buckley does not claim to be any of these past lives actively but he has the knowledge. One of the symptoms is believing thoughts are being inserted into one’s mind and, depending on how you read the journal, we could argue that. Hopefully, we can remember enough to catch him in the meantime.”

“What about the victims? It doesn’t take a genius to make the connection to me. The last victim looked just like me.” She shuddered at the thought. “Somebody was going to suspect something. We were the ones who originally caught him.”

“Not everyone knows about our past. “He held out a hand coolly. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there, Scully. In the meantime, we can tie all this together and present it to the ASAC in the morning. I’m exhausted. You ready to head back?”

“I’ll drive us back to the hotel,” she volunteered softly, gathering their files.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 19, 1998

Scully did not know if it was her memories or the new thrill of being held by Mulder while she slept, but it felt right. It just felt right. It happened without discussion, almost automatically assumed as if they had been doing it for years. But deep down, Scully was glad she was not sleeping alone tonight. The autopsy from earlier that day still plagued the back of her mind, made her feel uneasy, and she knew, deep down, Buckley was hunting her again. Waiting. She felt Mulder unconsciously tighten his arms around her and snore slightly in his sleep. They would be all right. They had to be.

. . . .

You knew it was about revenge. I told you about it in the beginning.

It was transparently obvious. Blatantly so.

Mulder took my wife and he will pay. Again.

But there something thrilling about the hunt. It would be nothing to just shoot the man in the head and be done with it, but it takes real skill to lure your prey before making the final kill. I killed someone right away at the Oceanfront only because she knew who I was. She didn't count. The first woman was just meant to be a warning, but the second woman, mmm...it was just a matter of how creative I could get. And the crazy thing, I just loved it. The end is coming soon, don’t worry. But everything comes in threes before the big finale. This isn’t over yet. I will still have my day.


	12. Chapter 12

Yorktown, Virginia  
December 25, 1864

After two years of Union Army occupation, General Ulysses S. Grant had ordered the abandonment of Yorktown in mid-1864 to carry his troops and equipment further up north in Virginia to commence the Siege of Petersburg, right on the outskirts of the Confederate capital of Richmond. No longer was the small coastal town run like a military garrison, but rather what it was, what it used to be: a little town wrought with history tracing back to the founding the country and was attempting to rebuild. The threat of war seemed like a distant memory almost where the town only heard of news the war came through news and rumor. The Union Army’s presence lingered after the mass exodus but their presence had become minimal and had integrated into the town’s daily life. 

Scully stood on the sandy shore of the York River, overlooking to Gloucester County on the other side, in quiet reflection. While the Union’s presence had left, her personal and her marriage had flourished. It had just begun snowing, the light snowflakes like something out of a dream. She smiled to herself. She had to be in a dream, she just had to be. There was no way Scully would have imagined something like this possible. If this was a dream, she did not want to wake up.

She had just come from the doctor, her spirits high. She could not remember a time when she had felt so at peace or such contentment. The past two years had been rough for her, Mulder, and the Skinners, as well as the rest of the town, with the occupying armies. The wartime rationing was particularly hard as the war around them ensured food shortages and trading routes interrupted but both the civilians and the army tried to make do. But despite all these hardships, Scully would not have traded the past years for both nor did she regret her decision to run away from Norfolk on the eve of the Union’s invasion. 

She ran her thumb against the heavy silver band on her left ring finger and smiled in memory. Mulder and she had finally been married not too long ago, with their real names, in a church with the Walter Skinner and his wife as witnesses. Chuckling in remembrance, she thumbed the band on her ring finger thoughtfully and walked slowly along the shore, listening to the water. She had cast Franklin from her mind the moment she left Norfolk, because, to her, he was dead. She had not heard anything with the exception of what Charlie had told her two years previously about him becoming an admiral in Alabama. She cast those thoughts away with the remnants of her old life, locked in a chest and tossed out into the York River to be forgotten. But she and Mulder married. She was a married woman, happy with her husband. She had a sneaking suspicion Mulder had urged them to keep the use of their real names secret, so to the world and the small town, they were William and Katherine Healey. The Skinners eventually became privy to their real identity, but they changed their background story making them sound like some star-crossed lovers.

But now…

Scully smiled and gently ran her hand across her lower abdomen, feeling the subtle bulge if she really focused. She went earlier that day after complaining of being ill, constantly nauseous. Telltale signs that had somehow slipped her mind. The doctor’s wife was in the room as Scully carefully accounted all of her symptoms and once overhearing them, proclaimed that she was with child and leaving the doctor perplexed but smiling slightly embarrassed. She always had a knack for things like that, he confessed with a wink. He told her the basics about self-care and sent her on her way.

When she arrived back at the Skinner’s homestead, she passed through the house, murmuring a Merry Christmas to Walter as he sat by the fire reading and went on her way out to the carriage house. She climbed the stairs and saw Mulder in his usual place by the fire sprawled out on the couch with a book on his stomach. The previous year, they had put a small little loveseat in front of the fireplace which they often found themselves on in the evenings. He lounged haphazardly and she smiled quietly and kissed the top of his head, breaking his distraction from reading. 

“What were you reading,” she whispered. She ran her fingers through his hair and down his cheek, intermingling with his beard. “I wish you’d shave this creature.”

“I like it.” Mulder leaned his head back as Scully smiled, kissing him again. “I was reading Wilkie Collins, The Woman in White. You’d like it. Where were you tonight? Walter and Sharon were asking about you. They were worried.”

“I needed some time.”

“Did you go to church?” he asked casually. “Midnight mass?”

“Hmph.” She kissed him again and smiled. “No. I had some matters to attend to.”

“Mmm. Matters. Does that involve my Christmas present,” he joked. 

Mulder smiled and got up. He went to the chest at the foot of their small bed and dug through it. He passed her a small wrapped box that was heavy. Scully raised an eyebrow and gingerly opened it. She almost dropped it but could not find her words. In her hands was a formal picture the Skinners had paid for as a wedding present earlier that year, of the two of them, husband and wife. She thumbed the heavy glass affectionately. Mulder smiled. “I, uh, also had something else made for you.”

From his pocket, he produced a locket that held his picture. She smiled sadly. Mulder smiled and took the locket and placed it around her neck carefully. Scully looked at Mulder quietly. “Do you still wear the rosary I gave you?”

Mulder took her hand and gently pressed it against his dress shirt and she smiled, feeling the familiar rosary beads under his cotton shirt. “Merry Christmas, Scully.”

She smiled, wrapping her arms around her husband and caressed his cheek. “This year has been the best one of my life. We got married,” she teased, kissing his nose. “The Union Army left Yorktown. We are happy.” She took a deep breath and drew his hands to her abdomen and pressed them tightly against it. “And you’re going to be a father.”

“What?” He could not trust his ears. He could not let himself believe. “What did you say, Scully?”

She smiled with tears in his eyes. Her hands caressed his face affectionately. “You, Fox William Mulder, are going to be a father.” His eyes were bleary with unshed tears. “We’re having a child.”

“Are you certain?” he whispered.

“I am positive.” She nodded and kissed his forehead. “I saw the doctor and midwife today. I’m maybe about three months along. Maybe four. We are having a child.”

At that moment, the man she ran away with and always continued to surprise her lifted his wife up in his arms and spun her around happily. She laughed and hugged him closer when he set her back on the ground. She kissed him again quietly and he smiled. “We’re having a baby,” he murmured joyfully into her hair. “Scully, we’re going to have a family.”

“Are you happy?” she murmured hesitantly.

“Happy does not do this justice,” he murmured, kissing her neck. He hugged her close, not wanting to let her go, this angel that had saved him. “I love you. I love you so much.”

. . . .

Clothes were discarded. They spooned underneath the heavy blankets naked and watched the fire heat the small room. She felt Mulder kiss her shoulder hungrily and linger around her neck. He smiled. “I can’t feel…”

Scully guided her husband’s hand slowly along her slightly swollen abdomen and pushed it against her skin. “Do you feel it, Mulder?”

“You seem...ah, I feel it.” He coiled around her tighter. “I’m still amazed. Scully, you have no idea. I am a man not deserving of the miracle of you or this.”

“That’s our baby,” she murmured. “Our child. Mulder. We’re going to be parents.”

“A little boy or a little girl?”

“What do you want?”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me about Diana once, your first wife, and how she died in childbirth. Are you afraid? Would you want a child?”

Mulder flexed his body around her protectively around her as if trying to melt against her. “You’re different,” he murmured. “Diana...Diana was reluctant. She did not want to be a mother. She was reluctant about the marriage to begin with. By the time she was with child, uh, things were strained between us to say it pleasantly. The baby was unexpected.” He sighed and nuzzled her bare shoulder. “I wanted the child. She didn’t.”

“What would it have been?”

“A son,” he murmured.

“Mulder?”

“Hm?”

“What do you want?”

“What do I want,” he murmured affectionately, caressing Scully’s naked abdomen, “I want our child, Scully, healthy and happy with ten little fingers and toes. But honestly? A little girl. I always wanted a little girl. I remember when my sister was born, just something about a little girl with your hair and smarts, my eyes.”

“Our stubbornness,” she chuckled softly. She turned her head and smiled, kissing him and nuzzled his beard with her nose. “I love you, Mulder. We’re gonna have a little family.”

“You mean our family is going to get a little bigger. One of my favorite things is making babies with you.” She giggled, nuzzling his cheek and he sighed affectionately. “I love you too, Scully.”

. . . .

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 21, 1998

Scully and Mulder left their hotel before the sun had even risen. They stopped at a 7-11, got coffee and prepackaged muffins, and took I-64 to the I-264 connector and towards Norfolk. At seven, Scully watched the sun peak behind them in the rearview mirror in the east. This morning was blinding. She grunted, sipped the ill-flavored coffee and dug for a pair of sunglasses. She found Mulder’s Ray Bans scattered amongst the light clutter of their rental and put them haphazardly on her face to block out the rising sun. “Good look,” Mulder mused.

The oversized sunglasses slid down her small nose and she still smiles. “You still love it, Mulder.”

“Always, Scully.”

He held out his hand tentatively and she took to automatically and squeezed it. The new intimacy felt old and welcomed but only strengthened what they had together. “What is on the menu for today?”

“Well,” he began, shifting their hands so it rested on the center armrest, “I’m hoping we have a lead on something. I am submitting my revised profile this morning. I’m including what we talked about last night.”

“Which is?”

“The schizophrenia aspect. Nothing about us or past lives. Don’t worry. This morning, while you were still sleeping, I refined the details in my previous reports.”

“Such as? Mulder, we’re on record visiting before he escaped,” she told him, suddenly remembering. 

“He requested us,” he soothed. “We’re okay. Once this is all over and we catch Buckley again, we’ll figure out this past life business and where we stand.”

Scully shifted in the seat and looked down at their hands. “I don’t want to go backward, Mulder. We were on the edge of something last summer in your hallway and with this, I want to take the next step.”

He was taken back by her confession and in silent agreement, he squeezed her hand.

She took a deep breath. “I was pregnant, Mulder. Before. When he shot me. I was seven months along. It was our child.” She felt his hand tighten hers as she glanced carefully at him through the tinted sunglasses. He steeled his jaw in anger as if he was experiencing the new memories all over again. “Mulder, are you just remembering?”

After a moment, he gave a slight nod doing his best to also stay focused on the road. She could see tears watering in his eyes as some new fresh pain was opened up from an old wound he did not know he even had. “I remember,” he confessed in a whisper. “I remember.”

She grew quiet and hesitantly ran her free hand up and down his forearm without saying around, hoping the small action brought him some comfort. Mulder relaxed a fraction and asked her, “We were happy, weren’t we, Scully?”

“Very happy, Mulder.”

“We can be happy in this life too,” he said after a moment, glancing at her. “If you let me try again. I won’t steer you wrong.”

Scully was surprised at his last statement. Ever since they both openly acknowledged the idea of past lives and accepted the fact that once upon a time during the 1860s they had found happiness with each other and made it work during a time of war. That led to their first foray together in this life in the bed and ever since then, small actions like holding hands or simply holding each other while they slept became so secondary, it had been like they had been a couple for decades. Mulder glanced at Scully and when met with only her silence, he tried to pull his hand away, murmuring. “I’m sorry, Scully.”

But she would not let his hand go. “Why are you sorry, Mulder?”

“I’m being presumptuous.”

“Did I say anything?” she questioned.

“You did not say anything,” he said, taking his eyes off of the highway to look at hers. “Shit.”

Mulder slowed the car drastically down because of the early morning traffic as he flipped the turn signal to get off at the exit at Brambleton Avenue and sighed at the long back up of traffic. “I want a future for us. If we’ve really crossed time, space, and dimension to only find each other again, I don’t want to lose you again, Mulder,” she spoke softly. “I want that happy ending we deserve.”

Mulder nodded slightly. “You won’t lose me,” he murmured.

“How much has changed in less than a week.” Scully turned her gaze out the window.

“Indeed,” he murmured. “We better call to let them know we’ll be running late. Can you hand me my phone?”

“Of course,” she said. 

She dug through her briefcase and drew out his cellular phone and dialed the number for the branch office. She passed him the phone and reached down into the cup holder to sip her coffee. She heard Mulder speaking quietly and then sighing, and shutting the phone. “Everyone is up in Williamsburg,” he said softly, “they found another body overnight.”

“What?” Scully exclaimed. “Again? This is the fourth victim.”

“It happened overnight near the College of William and Mary. A couple of college students were taking a run and found the body.” Mulder grimaced as he glanced at Scully. “Scully, I don’t think you should come up there with me on this one.”

“Mulder, I’ve done the past three autopsies in the past week. I did the other autopsies before we caught him. I’m a forensic pathologist for god sake, Mulder. I can handle a little blood. What is another murder? He is rushing them.”

“He’s trying to draw you out. We both know this but the rest of the task force doesn’t. Maybe we should say something.”

“They’ll pull me off the case, Mulder. I won’t let that happen. I can’t. I want to see this bastard brought to justice too.”

“Or do you want revenge?”

“Revenge? For what? Something that happened over a hundred years ago that I am now just remembering less than a week ago when I thought I was losing my mind.”

“That’s not it, Scully.” Mulder inches the car up the exit ramp and exhaled slowly, mindful of the bumper to bumper traffic. “I’m thinking of Emily. The woman that was found was pregnant. Buckley cut the baby out of her like a Christmas turkey. And um, the baby wasn’t fully developed. It was, uh...wrapped in a garbage bag and tucked back under the woman’s skirt afterward.” Scully closed her eyes, feeling immediately ill. The ghost of her memory caused her to instinctively bring her hand to her belly as if she was pregnant as Emily’s ghost danced before her eyes. “Scully, you still with me?”

“Yes. I’m fine.” She nodded. “I’ll be okay. I’m not going to stand on the sidelines.”

Mulder nodded, choosing to remain silent as he turned towards I-64 to drive towards the peninsula and Williamsburg before reaching for her hand again and not letting it go.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
January 1, 1865

Mulder smiled as his wife sat in the middle of their bed wearing nothing but her sleeping shift, her small belly now just beginning to protrude out. Mulder smiled and placed his large hands on her stomach and crawled before Scully and placed warm kisses on the cotton material. She chuckled and played with his long hair and curled over him. “Do you feel your daddy,” she whispered into his hair but really talking to their unborn child. “Mulder, stop kissing my stomach.”

“Hm. I can’t.” He whispered fondly in between kisses. “I need to know my wife and child how much I love them.” He sighed dreamily and pressed an ear to Scully’s stomach. “Now quiet, I’m trying to listen.”

“What on Earth your you listening for? My stomach to growl and tell you to hand feed me some grapes?”

He chuckled. “I know the Skinner’s have a few slices of apples somewhere,” he whispered, looking up. “No, I was reading…”

“Where would you be reading medical textbooks? How would you even get them in the middle of a war.”

“The doctor. I let it casually slip I know a little something about education and it took a bit but he helped me understand a few things. Apparently, did you know, a woman can feel her baby at seven months?”

“Apparently,” she chuckled, drawing up to her eye level. “But I am not at seven months, maybe five or six. You know, a woman knows more about her body than a man. The midwife mentioned to me that I could start feeling things as earlier as four months.”

“You don’t know when you are going to give birth, do you?”

“No.” She bit her lip and shook her head. “Sometime during the spring, that’s all I know. We weren’t exactly prude, were we?”

Mulder grinned. The thing he loved about Scully was that she was Scully. He had never met in his life a woman so intelligent, stubborn, and beautiful. They would often read books together at night and verbally and mentally spare about it in bed before making love. And that last act itself happened in high frequency and got very creative due to all the French literature Mulder read. But she was his wife, his equal in everything they did together. Before the fated February day in 1862 when he caught a glimpse at her that snowy day did he ever imagine life could change.

“I’m not complaining, even now. You have a very creative mind.”

He grinned, resting his forehead against hers, his large hand raking against her swollen belly. “A happy mommy means a happy baby,” he murmured. “Scully, Happy New Year.”

“A new life too,” she corrected. “The war is going to end this year, I’m certain.”

“Where would you want to go?”

“What do you mean?”

“After the war. Do you want to stay in Virginia or go somewhere else?”

“Hm. I wish my parents could meet you, our child, but I fear how they would treat us after all I have done.” She shrugged. “Maybe we could. Right now though, Mulder, I’d be happy with just getting this baby out into the world.”

“Our marriage is legal, in the eyes of God and the Church, especially the Catholic Church. We saw to that..” 

“I know, but I still ran off.”

“They don’t know that. But what does that matter? Technically you were a widow. As far as we know, the Captain had died. It had been months and there was no word from him.”

“I’m sure Charlie mentioned something.”

“You can’t be too sure. Your brother is keeping an eye out for us.” Mulder looked up at her thoughtfully and then back down to her pregnant abdomen. He took a deep breath and whispered. “What about Massachusetts after the war?”

“Why there? It’s cold,” she chuckled.

Scully hugged her husband and he eased them down together in their small bed. He drew up the heavy blankets as he snuggled behind his wife and draped his arms around her and their unborn child protectively. “I wasn’t always from North Carolina. It was some of happiest times in my childhood with Samantha. Hear me out. You know I was born on Martha’s Vineyard and my father left me a house and a small fortune up there before he died while I was still at VMI. After all this, we could go up there and raise Little Scully--”

“Little Scully for a girl. Mulder Jr. if it is a son. I’m not quite ready to pick names yet.”

She smiled and nodded. “Okay, Little Scully for now. You want a little girl?”

“I want our child. But that doesn’t matter right now. It’s a little place called Edgartown. My father owned this big house. You could have all the libraries you want. If you want to go to university, you could. Our children could roam free like gazelles.”

“Children?”

“I want to make a lot of babies with you, Scully. All the babies I can.” He nuzzled her neck as she laughed. “I like making babies with you. It’s one of my favorite things.”

“I bet you won’t being saying that after this birth.”

“Quiet,” he teased. “But it’s right by the ocean. Don’t think I don’t notice you gazing out at the river. You can teach them to swim like you taught me. We could be happy.”

“What about work, Mulder.”

“I told you never to worry about that. After the war, I’ll reclaim my inheritance, retire. Teach. Be my queen’s loyal servant. I’ll take care of you, of both of you. Whatever you want.” He paused. “And if you want, you can get an education, do whatever you want.

“I want a happy future with you,” she murmured, “let’s start with that for now.”

. . . .

Williamsburg, Virginia  
December 20, 1998

“I want a happy future with you.”

“What did you say, Scully?” Scully blinked and looked around her, not recognizing where they were. Mulder threw their rental car into park as he parked parallel alongside a road. She glanced at the surrounding buildings, momentarily confused. “We’re at Colonial Williamsburg. You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m okay.” She took a look at the surrounding red reproduction colonial buildings and then back at Mulder. “Where did this happen again?”

He nodded towards a small field behind the rows of colonial houses off of Duke of Gloucester Street. She could see the crime scene techs and other agents wearing the FBI windbreaker jackets. The day was clear and bright, the sun shining down despite the cold air. As they exited the car, Scully could see the local police manning the yellow tape that wrapped around the crime scene so that the feds could do their own thing. Mulder paused so Scully could catch up with him but she stood fixed, looking at the crime scene. He came up beside her quietly, gently resting his hand on the small of her back, and called her name quietly. “Come on back, Scully.”

She blinked and tilted her head upwards and whispered. “I’ve been here before, Mulder,” she whispered.

Mulder caught the edginess of her tone and asked quietly. “When?”

“Then,” she murmured quietly. “Maybe. At the very end. I just know I’ve been here.”

Mulder resisted the simple urge to rub her arm in comfort or do something else equally intimate. “Well, that was then and this is now, Scully,” he whispered. “Buckley is not here, we’re surrounded by other federal agents and cops. He is nowhere near here. We have a job to do.”

“It’s not that,” she said. “You know what this means, Mulder. You know what he is trying to tell us.”

“I do.” Scully winced suddenly as if something from the past jumped up and bit her. “Mulder, I just…”

“What, Scully?”

“Don’t go too far?” she muttered quietly.

“I won’t, don’t worry. Come on, I bet the ASAC is already annoyed.” She took his hand quickly and gave it a squeeze, wordlessly trying to communicate I’ll be alright so long as I have you. Mulder gave her a sad smile and led her through the cold fields. “You just give me a shout.”

Scully nodded as they left the gravel parking lot and began the trek down the gravelly road of Duke of Gloucester, the main street that housed all the historic buildings of Colonial Williamsburg with the old College of William and Mary at the very end. She was quiet as an area, even in chilly December, had tourists and college students, was scattered in favor of federal and local law enforcement. Scully looked quizzically at the 18th-century reproduction buildings as they walked towards the crime scene trying to place the significance of the location.

“Why here, Mulder?” she whispered as they walked. A sudden gust of cold air blew her words away and she dropped her pace to walk behind his towering form. “Why would he kill here? This doesn’t add up.”

“I’ve noticed that, Scully,” he said. He turned slightly, wrapping his arm around her briefly so she would walk in sync with him. “Unless he is trying to prove something, this doesn’t fit the profile. Do you remember anything, anything at all?”

She shook her head slowly and swallowed as they approached the scene. Mulder dug for his FBI badge and flashed it as a local police office lifted the yellow tape. Diana approached in a jog and breathed a sigh of relief. “Fox, thank god you’re here finally. ASAC Benson is ready to blow a gasket. Agent Scully, they're expecting you already.”

Scully looked briefly at Mulder before nodding, already withdrawing her latex glove from her pocket. “Thank you, Agent Fowley,” she said neutrally and left Mulder to go towards the hive of crime scene techs.

Mulder tried not to worry as he watched her retreating back before adjusting his focus on Diana Fowley. “Traffic on the Monitor-Merrimac and I-64 with all the construction took us forever. What is all the press doing here?”

“We tried to keep it under wraps,” she started, watching Mulder’s face. “But word travels face. It is not often you have a gruesome murder on the edge of a college campus and historical site.”

“I suppose,” he mumbled.

Mulder rubbed his chin in thought, letting his mind drift. When he started in VCU and BSU, he saw some pretty gruesome crime scenes and things that never should have been. He had lived in the minds of the psychotic and monstrous. He almost broke himself then he found the x-files and Diana Fowley found him. But she left without a word with her wedding ring and divorce papers awaiting his signature. So he sequestered himself in the basement, content with his slides and files, chasing lights in the skies with a badge and a flashlight. But then she stepped through his door.

“Agent Scully seems elsewhere this morning,” Diana stated nonchalantly.

“She’s been under a lot of pressure with all the autopsies,” Mulder told her emptily. “Where’s Benson?”

Diana nodded towards the powder magazine where they spotted ASAC Benson directing various law enforcement personnel. “Lording over the locals,” Diana told him, chuckling. “Why the rush to see him?”

“I revised my profile,” he replied hurriedly. He scanned the field for Scully but could not find her. “I really need to go.”

“I’ll take you there.”

“I can go myself.”

“Fox, don’t think I haven’t noticed the changes between us.”

“What changes?” he asked. 

“Between us,” Diana said, motioning between them. Feeling emboldened, Diana reached out and grasped Mulder’s cold hand tightly with her fingers like she had a few months ago when they were excitedly discussing the test results of Gibson Praise. “I’m worried. This case is affecting you more than usual and you remember I’ve seen how bad you can get.”

I didn’t have Scully, he thought, but now I do.

Flash of memories danced through his head. Of a younger him, a much older younger him. He thought he saw Diana much younger than she had been when they were first together in the 1800s, in his first life. Her face covered in sweat, screaming something at him. Obscenities. Curses. There was a woman ushering him away. Then he saw Scully’s smiling face in the firelight, looking at him and holding her pregnant belly and he was happy, genuinely happy, and the odd thing was that it seemed more like a premonition rather than a memory. He glanced at Diana and his heart told him everything was wrong. Everything was wrong. He felt light headed and struggled to keep his composure. 

Taking a deep breath, he told her, “You can come if you want. I believe he is schizophrenic. The style of his murders suggests knowledge that he would not have previously known. It doesn’t match his M.O.”

“You read his journal, didn’t you?”

“I glanced at it with Scully last night when I was revising my profile,” he said quietly. “He is delusional, plain and simple.”

“You were always a terrible liar, Fox,” Diana pushed.

“Any you never knew when to drop it,” Mulder hissed, suddenly feeling emboldened. “I have to go.”

Diana reached out and grabbed his forearm tightly. “You’re making a mistake. You used to the do the same damn thing whenever you would profile. You would lose yourself in the head of perps and I remember how it would eat at you, Fox. I saw how it would destroy you. Are you telling me you’ve gotten better?”

“I’m fine,” he grated angrily. He pulled his arm free and used his long legs to stride away from Diana. She huffed angrily in the bitter cold and began to walk quickly behind him. Mulder waved his hand slightly, getting the lead agent’s attention. “Agent Benson!”

He spoke quietly to someone and nodded in greeting. “Mulder! You sure took your time!”

“Traffic, sir,” he apologized. “Agent Scully and I were at the field office before we got the call and had to turn around. Traffic was terrible, sir.”

“Where’s your partner?”

Mulder nodded towards the body. “Already taking a look.”

Agent Fowley had just joined them and the ASAC looked towards her. “Did you get what I requested, Agent Fowley?”

“Yes, sir. The locals are going to send over any footage that they may have.”

“Good. What can I do for you, Agent Mulder?”

“I’ve revised my profile on him--”

“Tell him about the past lives.”

Benson raised an eyebrow and looked at Mulder pointedly. “What past lives? Wasn’t this your area of specialty, Agent Mulder?”

“Was,” he said coldly, looking at Diana. “But remember, I was a profiler before that. Even on the x-files, it was because of facts, not loose claims that led to our success rate. I did read something similar to that but Buckley has a history of mental illness. It was recorded before he even made his first kills the year before. The journal that Agent Fowley keeps bringing up was written by Buckley with his last year of imprisonment. I just think he is crazy and these delusions of past lives are dedicating his M.O. I still believe his victims are chosen at random but the way he kills them, it suggests an intimacy he is trying to project, control almost.”

“Agent Fowley keeps telling me she is certain you believe in past lives,” Benson quizzed.

Mulder’s mind drifted briefly and always came back to Scully. He thought of her accusations of trust when it came to Diana and how much it almost tore him apart. But the past week. Scully was his other half and they had survived a century and a half (that he could recall) together. She never betrayed him. She never would. 

“What about his fascination with Agent Scully,” Diana asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mulder?”

“I don’t know what she implying. After the trial, Buckley requested to see Agent Scully,” Mulder said. “Nothing came of it. We left that night and that morning, we were summoned back down here because of his escape.”

Benson rubbed his chin in thought. “Is there anything else that sticks out to you, Agent Mulder?”

“Just that we need to hurry and catch the bastard.”

Across the field, Scully finished putting on her latex gloves as the other agents parted for her to give her room. She could hear the others already whispering behind her as she kneeled down and mentally prepared herself. The air was already putrid. 

“Have you ever seen anything like this?”

“No. It’s horrible. It’s like something out of a horror film.”

“Or an experiment gone horribly wrong.”

“Who the hell cuts out a baby like that and…”

Scully tried to tune out the rest of the chatter by closing her eyes and taking a deep breath through her mouth to avoid smelling the stench of decay. She had performed some gruesome examinations. Children were always the worst but she had never encountered something like this. A crime like this. She had read about them. All it took was a minute to look at the gruesome murder to cause Scully to snap the cover back over the body and get up suddenly. One of the crime scene techs looked at her oddly. “Agent Scully, are you alright?”

She nodded quickly, keeping quiet, not trusting her own voice. “I just need a moment.”

Scully stepped away and took a short walk towards a gnarled tree leaning heavy against the brake. Scully took a deep breath and tried to focus. Her mind was swimming again like it had earlier that morning. Looking down by the tree roots, something caught her eye. She kicked at the ground with her heeled boot and knocked something loose for the dirt. Two things. Kneeling down, she picked up the two objects in her hand. Two plain silver rings that looked like wedding bands. She thumbed the dirt off the cold silver and noted one was smaller than the other. Quietly, she just looked at the rings. Memories dancing across her mind…

“Scully!”

She saw Mulder jogging and she quickly closed her hand, hiding the newfound rings and shoved it into her jacket’s pocket before he could see anything. “Hm?”

He slowed his pace, taking a moment to examine her face. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head dismissively and nodded towards the body. “I can’t, Mulder.”

“What is it? Scully, is it the body?”

She shrugged looking at the covered body. “I’ve never seen anything that gruesome,” she confessed to him softly. She swallowed hard, trying to keep the bile down. “I’ve done exhumations, children, but I have never seen anything so…”

“Violent,” he supplied. Scully looked at him as his hazel eyes wordlessly prodded her.

“I don’t know what came over me,” she apologized softly. “I’m sorry, Mulder.”

“Did you remember something?”

“Nothing that I haven’t already experienced,” she murmured, looking down at her feet. “I mean, how is it to live with knowing experienced your own death? Once in one life. And then almost in this life? Multiple times? I feel like Sisyphus, Mulder. I feel like I’ve been losing my mind the past week. I know what happened and what is happening but how can I believe it? How can I stop it from happening again?”

She sighed as Mulder stepped into her personal space. “By catching him in this life. I don’t believe...I don’t believe in the first life, he was a murderer. A deranged man yes, driven to wrong side during the war to which he believed in but…” Mulder swallowed, the lump in his throat heavy. “I remember too. I remember, Scully.” Her watery blue eyes meet his hazel ones, searching for the truth, the confirmation of what they both knew. “You won’t die in this life either,” he vowed to her. “He acted in rage and jealousy, enough to make a man kill, but not torture. The second life, the mentions of being in a gang member, an enforcer...I think that’s when he flipped.”

“So,” she breathed, “we change and take on the personalities of the people we once were?”

“I think we’re the same old souls, going from life to the next and the experiences shape us as a person. Sometimes we remember, others times, not so much. I don’t know the exact answer, Scully. You are no different now than you were then, well, maybe a bit smarter.” She chuckled slightly. “Okay, really smart, Special Agent Medical Doctor. But you are still the same good soul, strong of spirit, stout of heart, and still the strongest person I know. Even if you are short.”

“I would slap you if I could.”

“You couldn’t reach even if you tried.”

The slight jab lightened her mood and Mulder smiled. “Come on, let’s finish up out here, meet with Benson, see what needs to be done, and grab lunch. The body is not going anywhere for you to autopsy it.”

Scully nodded, her hand unconsciously touching the outside of the pocket, feeling the bumps from the rings. She debated saying something to Mulder, to the crime scene techs. As far as she knew, they could have been considered evidence. But she knew. She knew those rings had other significance. 

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
January 10, 1865

One of Mulder’s favorite times of the day was just laying with Scully on the couch in their small little room above the carriage house on the Skinners’ farm when it was late at night and he had finished the day’s labors with Walter and Scully had finished helping Sharon with the house. The Union army’s presence lingered in the area as a point of contact but its presence still continued to be felt. But none of that mattered. Fox Mulder was a man in love and an awaiting father.

Mulder’s long legs stretched outwards, resting on a table that had set in front of the small fireplace. Scully was already dressed in her nightgown and was hauling a large comforter behind her. He got to his feet, his eyes widening, about to scold her when she held up a finger. “I’m pregnant, Mulder, not an invalid. If you want, you can massage my feet before bed.”

He took the comforter from her as she sat next to him on the couch, snuggling into his side where his arms instinctively came around her as he pressed his hands against their unborn child. “Mmph,” she grunted, getting comfortable. “Somebody knows that daddy is close by.”

Scully watched as Mulder’s left hand skimmed the top of her pregnant belly, the firelight playing off his silver wedding band. She took her own left and ran it down the length of his arm, watching her own plain silver wedding band glitter in the firelight. “Do you regret anything, Mulder,” Scully whispered.

“Regret what, Scully?” he asked. 

“All this,” she mumbled softly, lifting their left hands so he could see. “Me? Throwing away your life?”

“Why are you asking this?”

Scully brought their hands to her chest and turned, as much as her body allowed, into Mulder, tucking her head under his chin. She closed her eyes, listening to his heartbeat and feeling their child move between them. “It’ll be three years soon,” she murmured.

“It will.”

“This war is going to be over soon.”

“I hope.”

“You know, I never considered having a family until I met you?” She whispered, knowing he could hear her. “I always read stories, the woman gets herself in trouble, falls for the man, etcetera. My father indulged me and let me study and read till my heart was content. He let me put off getting married until I had to, I had no other choice. Franklin was a perfect choice. He and my father were longtime friends and after his wife died, well, it seemed obvious. He already had nine other children, there was no pressure for me to have a family since I would, in effect, marry into one. My father thought he was trying to spare me but…” She gave a bitter laugh. “I was miserable. Seven years, Mulder. Seven years. When he did try--” Scully shuddered. “I read enough to know tricks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “Know why? I found you and then, all of sudden, I couldn’t imagine anyone else.”

“Why are you telling me this?” he whispered, playing with her curly red locks.

“I need to. Did I ever tell you that when we first met in Norfolk and you held my hands I started to dream about you? That’s why I came that night to your barracks,” she murmured. She extended her hand across his chest and felt the rosary beneath his shirt. She gently pulled it out into the open and held it up so they both could see it. “I dreamed that I was your wife and you were going off to war. I gave you something to remember me by. But you had died in battle.” She sighed and thumbed in remembrance, continuing, “I awoke in such a fright that I thought it real. I was so scared, Mulder. I just had to see you.”

“A different time,” he repeated uneasily. 

“A different life,” she murmured. “I don’t remember much, except…”

Her voice died off and Mulder rubbed her back. “What, Scully?”

“Just the way I felt when you smiled at me,” she murmured. “Like we were always destined to be with each other.”

“So what if we are,” he mused as his free hand gently ran up and down her body. “Maybe this is finally our chance at happiness. I mean, I’m fairly happy. I found the love of my life, the war is almost over, and we’re having a child, Scully. What can be more perfect?”

“Nothing, Mulder,” she whispered, kissing him soundly. “Nothing can be more perfect than this.”

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 21, 1998

Scully leaned her hands against the tiled shower wall and bent forwards so she could feel the scalding water from the shower head. Her back hurt, her feet hurt, her hands hurt...everything hurt. She could not remember the last time she had done so many autopsies in less than a week. She was up to four. That must have been a record. Mulder had picked her up two hours earlier and dropped her off at the hotel and drove back to the field office. He promised dinner and some beer before kissing her briefly goodbye. As she washed her hair, her thoughts drifted to earlier that day. The body. The unborn child. The whole gruesomeness of the murder, all the murders really. Where was the end? Would there be an end?

She washed her hair with the hotel bottles and lingered about washing herself (again) and recalled how she had practically scrubbed her hands and arms raw repeatedly during the course of the autopsy. Finally, she summoned the courage to turn off the water and step out of the shower and towel her hair. She pulled on her terry robe she had brought from home and slipped out into the room, click on the television in the process. She watched the headline scroll on the bottom of the screen as the local ten o’clock news zoomed in on a crime scene and she saw herself crouching among the crime scene techs earlier that morning. Diana Fowley’s face appeared on the screen next and Scully switched it to a random channel without giving it a second thought. She settled for ESPN which she knew Mulder would probably watch if he decided to ever come by again.

She sighed and dressed in a pair of gray pajama bottoms, an old FBI tee shirt, and her UMD hoodie before crawling into the middle of the bed. Reluctantly, she reached for the small evidence envelope that had rested on the nightstand. Her hand was shaking. Why was her hand shaking as she opened the envelope and let the two silver rings fall into her hand? She took the smaller of the two and hesitantly held it up to the light for inspection. The metal warmed against her fingertips and she slid the silver band down her left ring finger and sighed. The familiar weight and warmth the medal...she could see Mulder’s smiling face as he slipped it on her finger in the church. She blinked when she heard a card sliding out of the card reader and Mulder pushing open the door with carryout in one arm and files in the other. 

“Hey, Scully,” he called. “Sorry I’m late. I brought dinner though.”

“It’s fine, Mulder.” She closed slid her left hand into her pocket. “What did you bring?”

“Subs,” he said. He set them down at the table. “I’m going to take a shower. You can start without me.”

“Are you staying here again tonight,” she asked softly.

He already dropped his trenchcoat on the other bed and was loosening his tie heading to their adjoining room. “That was the plan. Why? Something wrong?”

“No. I was just sort of hoping…” She shrugged. “Even though it’s only been a week, with the addition of the new memories and all, I can’t imagine anything else. Silly, isn’t it?”

“Not at all.” He nodded to her hand. “What do you got there?”

“What?”

“In your hand?”

“I’ll show you when you’re done with your shower, okay?”

Taking that as enough, Mulder striped away his dress shirt and went into the other hotel room to shower and she hastily withdrew the ring from her finger and both pieces of jewelry into the envelope and set it on the nightstand. Trying to distract herself, Scully got up and unwrapped the sandwiches, noting the two sweet teas. “Must be love,” she murmured with a smile, remembering what she had told them on one of their first stakeouts.

She could hear the shower in the other room as she unwrapped their dinner and unmuted the television so they could have something to distract them from the pending conversation. She debated about not telling Mulder about the rings. How could she prove it otherwise? She just knew. Her body knew. Her heart knew. That somehow, after a century, those had come back to them. Undoubtedly though, the odds of them being left in the dirt where impossible. But that meant Buckley. That meant Buckley had left it for them as a message. But what was the message?

Mulder came back five minutes later wearing a knicks tee shirt and running shorts, barefooted. “I hope you don’t mind I got us subs tonight. I couldn’t think of anything else. I got you a cold cuts sub unless you want to share my Philly cheesesteak. Oh, and onion rings. And onions are a vegetable, so it’s just a deep fried veggie.”

“Only your logic would see it that way. I put ESPN on for you. They had the news earlier and Agent Fowley was on the local news. Speaking of, what took you so long tonight?”

“I was helping review security footage. Local surveillance caught Buckley and with the work those agents have been putting, we were able to connect the dots. Buckley is hiding out in downtown Newport News in a local warehouse or something.” He sipped the sweet tea, wrinkling up his nose. “I forgot I asked for tea. I like a little sugar in my tea, not a little tea in my sugar.”

Scully smiled teasingly and sipped the tea. “I think it’s good. Remind me to get this again in the future.” She took half of Mulder’s sub and swapped it for half of her own. He chuckled as she arched an eyebrow questioningly. “What? You said I could.”

“Anyways, the ASAC is tired of games. We have surveillance on him now. We are doing a raid mid-morning. Buckley tends to sleep late from what the eyes on him have seen.”

“That’s great,” she smiled. “What time are we leaving tomorrow? We finally get a chance to end this.”

Mulder shifted uncomfortably. “You’re not going,” he said. “I told Benson you were sick with flu.”

“Mulder! You know that’s not fair!”

“You know what happened, Scully. I can’t...I can’t lose you. I can’t watch you die. I just remembered. I have experienced your abduction and the grief of losing you, I can’t risk it,” he said quietly. The air between them shifted sadly. “We both know Buckley wants revenge against us, the FBI doesn’t. I might make a mistake and--” He shook his head. “Scully, please, for me.”

“It’s my life, Mulder. It still is.”

“But things are different between us,” he pressed.

She lowered her gaze, knowing he spoke the truth. The past week, ever since learning of their past lives and their history together, the love that already had was only realized and deepened in this life with the past knowledge. Scully got up and grabbed the small envelope from the desk and place it on the table in between them. 

“What is this?” Mulder opened it and let the two silver rings in the palm of his hand and he thumbed them affectionately. He blinked and Scully could see tears in his eyes. “Are these, are these what I think they are, Scully?”

“You know they are, Mulder.”

He nodded and took the largest of the rings and inspected it. “Where did you find these?”

“At the crime scene this morning, by the tree. Buckley left them, I know he did.”

“How would he even got these things?”

“How would we even found these, Mulder? What were the odds? We both know those are our wedding rings.”

He shook his head dismissively and slid the rings back into the envelope and slid across the table to her. “Don’t let anyone catch you with these,” he warned.

“Are you mad?”

Mulder drew a shaky breath. “I should be. I should be a lot of things but all I know is that I’ve suddenly lost my appetite and I can’t focus on anything right now.” Scully nodded and wrapped up their dinner and put it away in the room’s mini-fridge. He sighed and got up and she honestly thought he was going back to the other hotel room. But to her surprise, he pulled back the blankets on the bed and held out his hand welcomingly. “Come to bed.”

She took his hand and he guided her under the covers, always the gentleman. He came in behind her and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. She nodded, signaling she was comfortable. Mulder turned out the light and left the tv on for them. Quietly, he spooned behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist. Scully let her mind drift, just letting herself enjoy this moment. “I just don’t want anything to happen to you, Scully. Promise me you’ll stay away.”

She nodded silently. “Promise.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckley finally catches up to Mulder and Scully

Holiday Inn By The Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Scully could not sleep. Nothing in the world could let her sleep. There were too many thoughts swimming through her head, too many memories, past and present, hopes for the future, trying to stay grounded in the moment. Halfway through the night, Mulder started twisting and turning beside her in the midst of a nightmare and that had woken her up. Unknowing what to do (or maybe it was a past life) she tried to comfort him. Pulling his head into her lap, she ran her hands up and down his chest soothingly, not know what else what to do.

“Ssshhh,” she soothed, “it’s just a dream.”

Her fingers raked through his hair as she bent over and peppered him with soft kisses.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
February 7, 1865

Scully was pregnant. Very pregnant. By her calculations, she was easily six or seven months along. Her petite frame made it difficult not to notice. It made it difficult to do anything. But at night’s, although rare, there were moments where she still could do something, especially when he had nightmares at night. But the nightmares were not a new thing, just rare. She remembered him having them the first time they left Norfolk. It was a battle he could not remember. But now, it was something else. He kept muttering her name, his voice growing in panic. The last thing she wanted was to be disturbed. He was thrashing now and uncertainty, she placed her hands on either side of his face on his cheeks, whispering his name. His eyes fluttered open at the mere mention of her voice. His eyes had tears in them when they opened and he just held her tightly.

. . . .

Holiday Inn at the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

“Mulder!” His hazel eyes were wild as they focused on her face. He tentatively reached out, as if unsure, as she leaned over him caressing his cheek. He closed his eyes in relief, her soft hands cradling his face and stroking his cheek soothingly. She bowed and rested her head gently against his. “Are you okay? You were having a nightmare.”

He let a breath out he had been holding unknowingly. She caressed his face tenderly, emotions from the past raged with the current ones. Hesitantly, she kissed her brow, then his cheeks. He blinked with uncertainty. “Is this a dream?”

“No.”

“What year is it, Scully?”

Scully continued to stroke his cheek as he tried to focus his eyes just on her. He flinched unconsciously but then relaxed as she kissed his cheeks gingerly, her soft touch grounding him into the present moment. “What year do you think it is?”

“I don’t know. I just dreamed--” Mulder winced, cringing, and curled around Scully’s body. “I can’t remember. The Civil War? Now? Earlier? I don’t know, Scully.”

“It’s 1998.”

He was shaking and Scully instantly lay down to let Mulder tangle himself about her, using her as an anchor to the present, as something physical and corporeal to hold onto. He clung to her desperately as if time itself was threatening to split them apart. Scully turned to face him in his web of limbs and continued to stroke his face soothingly. “Look at me,” she urged in a whisper. “Mulder, look at me.”

Hazy hazel eyes tracked her soulful blue ones. “I can’t--I don’t know what time it is. I can’t protect you. I always failed you. In every life, Scully. You’re always taken from me,” he sobbed into her chest. “I can never save you.”

“You have,” she whispered urgently into his hair. “This life. Now. You never gave up hope after my abduction. You found me in Antarctica.”

“I wanted too. I wanted too so badly, Scully.”

“But you didn’t. My cancer. You were the only who fought for my cure. Even after everyone gave up on me, you never did. Last summer. Antarctica. Who else would have dropped everything to travel to the ends of the world with an iffy vaccine? You’ve saved me, Mulder, more times than I can count. In this life. Right now. I’m not going anywhere.”

He breathed a sigh of relief and closed his eyes. “I dreamed I held you in my arms dying,” he murmured. “It wasn't the Civil War like the most recent memories have been.” He took a deep breath, trying to center himself and focus on Scully. His hands traced her body reverently, trying to memorize every curve. “We were speaking French I think.” He sighed, lingering around the joint where her shoulder met her arm. “There was something. Here. ”

Scully sighed softly, peppering him with kisses. “The Black Death,” she murmured, recognizing the description.

He nodded. “We've been connected together for centuries, Scully. You and me. Two souls.” He took a deep breath and turned into her. “Love you,” he breathed. “Love you, Scully.”

Scully did not know what to do with herself. All she could remember was the Civil War. Was he remembering other times? Why couldn’t she? There was so much emotion running through her. It was not lust. No. It was born out of centuries of coexistence. Neither existed without the other. She sighed and rubbed his arm and pulled him into her lap. “Love you too. Yin and yang.”

“Didn't think you would go all Eastern Mystic on me, Scully,” he chuckled. “I'm sorry to wake you up. What time is it?”

“Only two a.m,” she murmured. “It's okay.”

“You can only remember the Civil War.”

She nodded.

“I keep--” Mulder sighed, relaxing against her. “I keep getting flashbacks. I don't know what to believe anymore, Scully. It's like a million different images running through my head.”

“I know what you mean. Do you know what helped me during this past week?”

He shook his head against her. “It was you,” she murmured, raking her fingers through his short hair. “It was always you, Mulder. My constant. My one in five billion. My touchstone.”

“Where have I heard you say that before?”

“Maybe in another life,” she teased.

“I like it.” He smiled and reached out to caress her cheek lovingly. “I can’t get over it,” he began. He reached his hand up to rest of on the back of her neck. He could feel the chip under the slightly raised skin. She got the hint and bent forward to kiss him soundly. “How we arrived at this point. You.”

“Well, you can look at it one of two ways,” she said. “Either we’re soulmates or I have been eternally damned to keep your ass out of trouble.”

“I think a bit of both.” He chuckled softly. “How have I managed so long without you,” he teased. “Then you walk into the basement all proud and stubborn, and now…”

“Must have been luck.” She chuckled.

“Must have been fate,” he correctly softly as his fingers caressed the back of her neck affectionately. “Or we are just really lucky.”

“After all this, Mulder,” she spoke softly, her blue eyes never leaving him, “I want to go somewhere just for the weekend.”

“And do what?”

“I have memories of us being happy, Mulder. Of us together and we were going to be a family,” Scully mused. “Last year back in San Diego, when we found Emily...I was so hopeful, Mulder. I know I pinned all my hopes on hat adoption and I know she was not meant to be. But it was like to imagine it, you know?” She smiled as she let her fingers linger in his spiky hair. “Can I tell you a little confession, Mulder? When I first saw you with Emily, making the potato head face, I let myself indulge in the thought, that if somehow, by some miracle the adoption was to going through--” Her voice was caught and Mulder could sense her hesitation.

“Go ahead, Scully.”

She smiled to herself. “It seems silly and not at the same time,” she murmured, her eyes focusing on a part of his chest before gathering her thoughts. “When I saw you with Emily, and call me selfish, but I thought the three of us could be a little family. I, uh, toyed with the idea. I mean, we’re practically inseparable.”

“We almost were,” he murmured. “Are. Come lay back down.”

“No, no. I’m okay, Mulder. I like this actually.” She lazily played with hair and gave him a light kiss. “Like I said, I’ve also wanted to just play with your hair. I like the shorter, spiky hair you have been favoring recently.”

“If only we had realized it sooner, huh,” he teased. “Think of all the late night calls that could have been avoided if you sat like this with me on my couch.”

Scully smiled. “But like I said, we were happy in that life. I want to be happy in this life, even with my infertility. I have you. Do you feel any different?”

“Like you told me that night, I’m myself all at once.”

“After this,” she murmured, “I want to go somewhere with you, where we can fully explore this new thing between us and never let you go.” She grinned and kissed him again. “Or maybe now.”

“We still have time.”

“I still hate you want me to stay behind on this, Mulder.”

She was already in the process of flipping him on his back and straddling his hips. He slowed her as he placed his hands confidently on her hips and rubbed them affectionately. “Ever since that night, Scully, I can recall it just like you can,” he told her softly.

“Like your own memories.”

“They are our memories.” He nodded. “It kind of takes the fun of out exploring this new dynamic of our relationship though.” His hands palmed under her shirt grazing the smoothness of her warm skin. “I mean I know you love it when I do this.”

He lurched forward and kissed her solar plexus sensually and trailed it up her sternum. Scully gripped his shoulders tightly in response, digging her nails into his skin. For some reason, she never experienced kisses in that particular spot so extensively. Mulder’s hands took off her pajama top and smiled lustfully. “How the hell did you know how to do that?”

He smiled, tapping his temple. “I just do, Scully. That’s what I mean, I know how to elicit certain reactions from you as you can with me. The first time certainly showed that.”

“So where’s the fun in that,” she murmured, kissing him again.

“We can cut right to the chase.”

Scully grinned and raked her hands through his hair and arched her neck backward as Mulder trailed a series of sensual kisses down her neck and to her sternum. She opened her eyes and in a moment, caught the yellow envelope with the rings. She wondered, at that moment, whose life she was living? Was she caught in the past? Where had her present sense of self-done with their sense of professionalism and propriety? Or maybe, just for once, she truly was all of her self and this was how it was supposed to be.

 

“Scully, you still with me,” he asked, breaking away. She looked down at the man she held in her arms. She nodded shortly. “We’ll figure out something.”

“I wasn’t thinking that.”

“We can stop if you want.” Scully paused and looked down at him. “Scully, talk to me.”

She closed her eyes and rested her forehead gently against his. “What if this really isn’t me, Mulder? I mean, it’s me but not. I mean--” She sighed, exasperated. “I just don’t know, Mulder.” He kissed her gently and detangled her from his lap. Scully gazed at him forlornly and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry, Mulder. I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“Talk to me.”

He sat next to her on the edge of the bed and hesitated to do anything else. Reluctantly, he summoned up the courage to gently grasp her hand, giving it a light squeeze. Scully picked up the envelope and held it between them. “What are we, Mulder?”

“What do you mean what are we?”

She dropped the rings back into her hand and showed it to him. “We remember another life, Mulder. We were married. We were happy.”

“We were,” he echoed.

“And in this life...everything changed in a week because we let it. What about the work?”

“Our work.” She was silent, unsure how to reply to that correction. “I don’t think it’s necessarily a bad thing,” he hesitated. What was she saying? “Scully, what are you not telling me?”

“What if we are only acting this way because it is...imposed on us? Like our past selves are controlling our present bodies. What if you only feel like this because of the memories? What happens if it isn’t us?”

“Scully,” he murmured, taking a deep breath. “Last summer in the hallway, before the bee, everything I said...it was me. It was all me and I meant every word. You make me whole, Scully. And it’s not just your science, it’s you, all of you.” He framed her face in his hands and took a deep breath. “And I never had a chance to finish what I started.”

Her breath was caught in her chest as she recalled the tense atmosphere from last summer and then he kissed her, properly, like he should have had the first time. But it was so much more. So much more. He was the first to break away reluctantly. She closed her eyes and rested his head against hers.

“Everything we have, we created,” he said, his voice becoming lost in memories of past and present. “And we have a future.” He took a deep breath. “Promise me you stay here this morning while I go in with the task force.” She broke away, a protest about to rise upon her lips. “Scully, please, just for once, please, I’m begging you to do this for me. I can’t risk… I can’t…I can’t relieve that again.”

Scully sighed and closed her eyes, sighing. He knew how she felt about this but they both knew how each other felt it. Silently, just this once, she consented. “Okay, okay,” she conceded, nodding slightly. “Just this once. But know, I am not very happy about this.”

“I know. I’ll think of something to tell Benson but I will feel better knowing your here and Buckley won’t be able to get to you. We both know what he wants, Scully.”

Sighing, she nodded. “I know.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

She smiled. “I’m planning on it.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
February 23, 1865

Scully awoke to the chilly morning air alone in her bed with an achy back and a pillow between her legs. She groggily spied a folded piece of paper on her nightstand. Risking the chilly morning air and grabbed the note and brought it to her face while she still stayed in her warm cocoon of blankets.

‘S.- Happy birthday, my love and I guess happy three year anniversary too. Had to run with Walter up to the market concerning new wheels for the wagon. Be home before noon. Sharon is already expecting you to sleep in late. Take advantage of it. See you when I get back. All my love. -M.’

She folded the note to her chest and gazed sleepily out the window seeing the morning’s first light break. She smiled to herself and felt the unborn baby kick. She closed her eyes, shushing her baby, and dreamed of a bright future full of New England summers, her, Mulder, and a happy little girl (or boy!) dangling in between their hands.

. . . .

Walter glanced at Mulder as he carefully maneuvered the wagon through the muddy road. He could not help but notice how Mulder just kept smiling in the cold morning air and even as it began to flurry. “What are you smiling about, William?” Skinner asked.

“I, uh,” he smiled, despite himself, “it’s Scully...Katherine’s birthday today and it also marks three years since we’ve, uh, met.”

“Became engaged you mean,” Skinner corrected, trying to keep Mulder’s story straight.

“Uh, yeah. But three years and it’s her birthday.”

Walter smiled. “Are you getting excited about the baby, William?”

“Truth is,” Mulder murmured, smiling and gazing down at his feet briefly in embarrassment, “the prospect is a little terrifying.”

“Well, one’s first child is always a little daunting.”

“This isn’t the first time, I uh, been through this. I was married before. Before Scully--I mean Katherine and I met, I was a widower. My wife has passed some seven years back in childbirth, along with the child. I fear for her. She is so small and I’ve heard things...how horrible things can go wrong.”

Skinner nodded in understanding. “Sharon and I, we’ve tried for years but we were never able to fully conceive,” Walter began. “Each miscarriage and stillbirth that she had, it should have killed her,

but she didn’t die. I am blessed every single day with her.”

Mulder nodded empathetically. Over the past few years, his view on the world had changed and he had developed a more positive outlook about life and even let himself dream about the future with his wife and soon to be child. He smiled in agreement. “I wanted to get her something special for today,” he said, “I’m just not sure what I can do.”

“I know just the shop,” Walter smiled. “We can get it while the wagon is getting repaired.”

. . . .

Virginia Beach, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Scully lips still tingled from their kiss earlier that morning as she changed into her jeans and one of her tee shirts and jackets to run down to the local 7-11 to grab her and Mulder coffee that morning before he left to join the rest of the task force at the branch office. Her mind kept replaying her conversation with Mulder over and over again, her mind flashing back and forth between past and present. Getting out of the car, she rubbed her eyes, trying to wipe away the lack of sleep and the doubt she had resting on the back of her mind. Unbeknownst to her there was someone watching her.

. . . .

I’m baaack. That’s my best Jack Nicholson impression. I suppose I could add that to my repertoire.

I disappeared for awhile and decided to let the work speak for itself. I wonder if they got my message. Hopefully, you did. When the FBI decided to let my profile go public. That made things harder but not impossible. I am always up for a challenge. The information age makes it more challenging. The FBI hunted me back in the 1920s, I even got a mugshot and everything. I looked myself up once I realized who I was. I was an old ugly bastard. I was a fat chubby son of a bitch who liked to strangle people. Still, like the strangling but ain't fat. Now I’m I look like everyone else and that has been to my advantage. But I still can’t get past it. How the fuck do they look the same? Even have the same names?

I tried looking it up once. I read things about people changing sexes, looks, complete personalities. Hell, I’m living proof of it. Except when you begin to remember, you change out your personalities, your traits, while all at the same time still being you. I used to be a good guy in one life then I shot my cheating wife. I was upset sure but the bitch deserved it. Then the roaring 1920s. Then I learned to murder. Funny thing was I have enjoyed it. More so. I loved it. I’m sure I’ve told you that already. Or you could have it guessed it.

But I’ve been biding my time and waiting, underground, watching from the shadows. With help. There was a woman who came to me after I was first arrested, gave me a letter and that is what sparked all the memories and I was able to be me, all of me. She is still feeding me information, helping me stay off the FBI’s radar but I have my moment and I see it. Now it’s my time.

. . . .

Holiday Inn by the Airport  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Mulder yawned and checked his black Omega watch, checking the time. It was near six a.m. and Scully should have been back by now. A growing concern was gnawing at the back of his mind. Something was wrong, something was wrong with Scully. He pulled on a quick pair of jeans, his jacket, badge, and service weapon. He hurried downstairs to the front desk. The attendant forced a tired smile. “Good morning, sir,” he greeted, “how can I help you?”

Panic was racing through his mind. “Did you see the red-hair woman that I have been with come back this morning?” he stammered.

The other man shook his head. “No, sir but she asked about where to get some coffee. I directed her to a 7-11 next door.”

Mulder’s photographic memory was already formulating a route and was trying to remember if she had taken the car. No. No. Their rental keys had been in her room. She walked. Without another word, he jogged the short distance to the convenience store and on the ground, he saw the spilled coffee cups, stains of struggle, and glittering on the concrete from the artificial light of the store, was a small golden cross on a broken chain.

. . . .

Unknown Location  
December 22, 1998

Memories danced before her eyes. She could see Mulder’s smiling face as her skin recalled his tantalizing touches and her heart tried to continue to beat with dreams of their future. But as her eyes opened, she was greeted to darkness and the familiar sensation of being bound with ropes tightly binding her wrists against something, a pipe may be, and familiar stiff stickiness of duct tape placed across her mouth. What a sad and pathetic thought she knew the sensation of being bound and gagged by a crazed madman. As she opened her eyes to be greeted by darkness.

Okay, Dana, first things first, Scully thought, observe, record, hypothesize, execute. The scientific method had served her well in the past.

She forced herself to sit upright. The first thing she was bound at the wrists but not to any pipes or furniture but they were tied behind her back.Progress. Could she stand? Her legs hurt but she shuffled them against the concrete floor. Okay. She could move, hands were bound, and concrete floor. A factory of some kind? A basement? Scully rolled awkwardly to the wall and somehow sat herself up. Getting to her feet would be more difficult. Besides, without any light, she was blind.

Then she heard someone whistling. The tune was familiar. She had heard it such a long time again. “Come where my love lies dreaming,” Scully mumbled, surprised. She knew that song. How--didn't matter. She knew that whistling. “Shit.”

The door unlocked and she squinted her eyes at the sudden blinding light. “Dana, dear, my darling wife. I’m so glad you’re awake.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Over a century and I see your manners have not improved.” She tried to get up. “And we aren’t married. Till death do us part. We died. We’re not married.”

“We are two souls reborn, Dana.” Buckley smiled indulgently and walked into her cell. “I see you're just as saucy as ever.”

“What do you want?”

“What I wanted last time,” he shrugged. “I want what’s mine. I want my wife. The Lieutenant broke his word to me. I gave him one job, one job, Dana and that was to make sure you stay out of trouble. But you had to run off, with him no less.”

Scully found it weird that she was conversing with him as if it was 1865 again but she was still herself, all at once. She was Dana Scully, the woman who had lived two lifetimes (that she was aware of) and her soul was still the same. But she also had the knowledge of a doctor and an FBI agent at her disposal as well. “What did you expect me to do? The city was going to be invaded. I had to run.”

“Don’t think I didn’t know about your little spying you did with the Lieutenant, Dana,” he continued, oblivious to her reply. “I caught your correspondence.”

“Then why didn’t you kill me then?”

“I hoped you would come to your senses but I see you lost them. But now, things are different.” He tapped his head. “See, I didn’t remember you until I saw you last year. Not fully. I dreamed of you, of our wedding.” He smiled. “You were so beautiful that day.”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“I’m a bit younger and better looking back then, don’t you think?” Buckley kneeled down and front of her, grabbed her shirt, and forced her into a violent kiss. Scully kept her self from gagging and bit his lower lip, hard, drawing blood and Buckley threw her back against the concrete wall. He laughed mockingly and rubbed his bloody lip. “Seems like you’ve only gotten more feisty with age. Oh, what fun we’ll have my beautiful, Dana, what fun.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
March 18, 1865

The early spring day was warm as they walked along the sandy banks of the York River, Mulder lagging behind slightly to watch his wife waddle as she kept her hands on either side of her enlarged abdomen for balance. He smiled. “Any day now, right?”

“About a month, give or take? You ready to meet your little girl?”

“So the little one is a girl today?”

“For the time being,” she teased. “How did you convince Walter to let you have the day off?”

“My pregnant wife needed some pampering,” he replied, “and I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

That was another thing she loved about Mulder. He loved her for just being her. He encouraged her to read and stretch her intellectual muscles. He talked about when they did reach Martha’s Vineyard, that if she wanted, they could move inland and find a place where she could attend university if she desired it. Whatever she wanted. To him, she was his equal, and he treated her as such. She just loved him even more.

“You truly are something else, Mulder.” She looked about the area. “How is this?”

“Whatever is my queen’s command.”

“Here.”

Her smiled made him feel as if he could fly. Mulder unrolled the blanket that they had brought with him and laid it over the sand. He unslung the sack of their lunch and anchored it to the top of the blanket. There was no wind. It was warm. The sun was shining with no clouds in the sky. There was still a light Union army presence but more than anything, was a comfort, knowing that despite the war, the victor’s presence ensured peace.

Mulder set the blanket out and sat on top of it. Scully smiled indulgently at her husband held out her hand. “Oh, my apologies, my queen.”

He grasped her hand warmly and guided her to his lap. She cried out in surprise and her hand immediately went to her stomach. “Oh!”

“What?” he asked in alarm. “Is it the baby?”

“Yes, it’s the baby, but I’m just surprised,” she told him.

Quickly she grabbed his other hand and held it over her stomach. He felt their unborn baby kicking against her. She smiled at Mulder as he smiled at her adoringly. “Not much longer now, huh?”

“Pretty soon, you’re gonna be a daddy.”

“I still can’t believe it.”

He arched his head up to kiss her soundly. Scully hugged him to her breast and reflected lazily, that three years ago, she would have never imagined this. Happy, genuinely happy

. . . .

Scully pressed her face into Mulder’s chest as he tried to sooth her despite their restraints. “We’re going to be okay. We’ll be fine.” He took a moment to look up and saw his old captain, Franklin Buchan, gaunt, pale, and struggling with a cane, but looking pissed off as hell with that old service revolver hanging off his side. Somehow, he also saw the man that had supposedly been tracking them since they left Norfolk, Alex Krycek. Scully wasn’t crying; she would never let them see her weakness but she was scared. Her hands kept going to their unborn child as much as she could.

Scully had tears in her eyes as she closed her eyes and murmured in a weak voice, “I’m scared, Mulder.”

His heart pulled in his chest. “I know, Scully,” he whispered, just for her. “I know, angel but now is it not the time.” He nuzzled her forehead. “I’ll take care of you.”

“I know,” she murmured. Her heart was hammering in her chest. “He’s going to kill us.”

“Don’t say that, Scully.”

“I know him, Mulder.” He took a deep breath and sighed as she closed her eyes. “Mulder?”

“Hmmm?”

She looked at him questioningly and he pulled her close to his chest as much as he could with their bindings. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent. “Mulder, pray with me,” she murmured just for him. “Please.”

Mulder nodded softly and bowed his head. She did the same, resting her head against his. “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum,” she began softly.

. . . .

Norfolk, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

This can’t be happening. Not again. Not like this. Not this time. How come Scully always got the short end of things?

Mulder stood against the wall outside of the convenience store watching a combination of feds and local police rove the crime scene. The good news is that they had positively identified Buckley as the one who had kidnapped Scully, but that where the trail ran cold. After all, aside from the bodies, there had been no sign of Buckley since his escape and none of this helped Mulder’s racing fear. He remembered the helplessness he felt with her abduction, how late he had been. If only he could have gotten there a few seconds earlier. Then Scully could have had her life back. She would have never had to experience cancer. She would still be able to have children. Maybe Emily would have lived a happier life instead of dying as a hybrid, a fate no little girl deserved. He could have saved her.

Mulder was going to find Scully. He was not going to let anything happen to her again. Not in this life.

From the distance, Agent Fowley noticed the deep frown settled across Mulder’s brow. She looked at ASAC Benson, who was distracted and currently talking to some of the forensic techs at the moment. Taking this moment, she walked towards Mulder, catching him off guard. “Fox,” she started softly, “are you okay?”

Mulder blinked, coming out of his thoughts and the thick fog of his insecurities. “How do you think I am, Diana?” he growled. Sighed, he caught himself, curbed his anger, took a deep breath, and answered. “I don’t know how I should feel. I can’t...I can’t let my mind go there. After seeing those bodies over the past week, his work, I hope…” He swallowed. “I know we’ll find her.”

“Why do you think he took her?” Mulder was silent. Why had Diana said he? Why did she automatically assume it was Buckley but she pushed further. “Fox, I know you better than you think I do. I know it has to do with past lives and I know you believe it.”

“He’s just crazy and delusional,” he muttered in a vain attempt to dismiss her. Where was Diana going with this? What was she implying? “Why do you say that?”

“I’m not dumb. All the victims have some similarity to Agent Scully. Everyone sees it except you, or at least you’re misleading Benson. I know you, Fox.”

He scoffed angrily. Of course, he saw it. Mulder remembered it. He knew. But Diana mistook it for disbelief, but she was right. It was because of a past life he shared too. But he was not about to let Diana know that. His loyalty was to Scully and Scully alone. What changed in Mulder? It was not so long ago he was accused Scully of jealousy when it came to Diana. But now, a part of him knew that Diana should not be trusted. Why? What caused it? The past week’s astounding revelations of him and Scully, because they were actually soulmates? He had to play it safe and push his theories aside.

“When we met with him after his sentencing,” Mulder began carefully, “he called Scully ‘Dana.’”

“His journals mention a woman, a wife that was taken. It started right after he was arrested.”

He had read that too.

“By a man.”

“I’ve read his journals,” he snapped angrily. “I know what he thinks and I’ve seen what he is capable of. You constant pandering is not going to help me find her!”

Mulder pushed off the wall to make his way towards the ASAC as he chatted with the local detectives. Diana would not be so easily dismissed. She grabbed Mulder’s forearm like a claw. Mulder’s hazel eyes narrowed dangerously. “Think about what you’re about to do, Fox,” she purred menacingly.

All of Scully’s warnings came back in an instant. It had almost destroyed their partnership. Even then, ever since they were reassigned to the bullpen, their partnership was fraught with difficulty. He had dismissed her but in the past week, everything had changed. Diana was no friend to him or Scully.

Everything had changed in the past week. A whole lifetime of change.

Scully. His partner. His wife? His friend. His lover? The mother of his child? His partner. His soulmate. Things were complicated between them, they had always been difficult. Extremely complicated. But he loved Scully. He did not know when he fell in love with her, at this point, he felt he was repeating myself, but he loved Scully. Diana had nothing on her but a passing fix during the dark time of his life, in both lives. Scully changed that; she’d changed everything. And now, Mulder could not let anything happen to her. Not after all this. Not after what they had just rediscovered between them.

“I know what I am about to do,” he hissed, his voice talking on a coldness honed from centuries’ worth of love. “I’m going to get Scully back.”

Mulder pushed past his ex-wife, feeling liberated and empowered at the same time. He strove towards the ASAC with a plan already forming in his mind.

. . . .

Unknown Location  
December 22, 1998

It was a waiting game. Scully was still discreetly trying to find any weaknesses in her restraints but so far, no avail, but she still kept Buckley talking, which was a good thing. At the very least, she could get some answers. The past blended with the present as the mannerisms of the old sea captain she had called her husband in the 19th century made itself known. Buckley paced a lot, often limping and favoring the leg which he had been shot in back in 1862. He kept swirling a glass of something, whiskey from the smell of it. He looked unstable and his voice kept slipping in between a New Yorker, a slight southern accent, and the neutral American accent he had when she and Mulder first arrested him. But it was like multiple personalities were battling it out for dominance.

“How did you realize who I was, Franklin,” Scully began, adjust her arms.

Buckley smiled. “Franklin. Are you having trouble keeping everything straight too, Dana? I always had trouble. Ever since the dreams began when the woman brought me the letter and then I remembered. I remember agreeing to marry you with your father, and our wedding. Wasn’t that such a grand day?” Scully did not answer and Buckley continued without a second thought to her. “Then I remembered the dinner party and the Lieutenant.”

“It was my birthday and you left me there, ignored.”

“Not like you didn’t deserve it, Dana,” Buckley dismissed with a wave of his hand. “You ran off like a whore and gave him a child! Not me but him!”

“You had nine children already! You made my life miserable!”

“You’re place was in the house! It still is. You weren’t supposed to have your own thoughts or dreams. You belonged to me!” he screamed. “You always belonged to me!”

Scully quieted, her thoughts retreating to a different time very much like this one.

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
March 18, 1865

Mulder had long ago managed to rid them of their restraints but they could not free themselves from the locked shed that they now found themselves in. It must have been the evening because the air had grown colder. He had taken off his jacket and given it to Scully and had pulled her close in a weak effort to keep her warm. In a rare moment of weakness, she cried, doing her best to silence her weak sobs into Mulder’s chest as he held them. He tried to find his voice to bring some comfort to his wife, the woman that had brought him to life again but he couldn’t. He could not bring Scully any hope when he did not have any himself. In the distance, he could hear them, the captain and Krychek. There was another voice too that he did not recognize but he could also smell the stench of cigarettes. She groaned in surprise before hushing their unborn child softly as felt strong kicking against her stomach. Mulder felt her choke a sob and whisper, “We’re not going to get away, are we?”

. . . .

Unknown Location  
December 22, 1998

Scully had been freed from her restraints hours ago and placed in a locked room of some kind. She took stock of her scenery. A small bathroom with a sink and toilet, a small cot in the corner with a pillow and a scratchy wool blanket, bland walls and small bookcase full of old books. That could come in handy later on. Even then, it was clear that Buckley planned to keep her alive for the moment. But the entire situation mirrored her predicament back in 1865. But this time, she was going to make it. She was determined too. He had not beaten her or harmed her in any way beyond the rope burns from her initial restraint. Clearly, he was laying a trap to trap to try and draw Mulder out but would he even know where to start? Would Mulder realize that it was a trap to begin with?

“Dana,” he crooned from beyond the locked door, knocking on it lightly. “Dana, dear, can I get you anything?”

“A gun so I can blow out your brains,” she hissed, kicking the heavy door. “Fucking bastard. You weren’t content killing me the first time around so you are trying to do it again?”

“I didn’t mean to kill you last time, Dana!” Buckley’s voice weighed heavily with desperation. She heard him shuffled on the other side of the door. “I meant only to scare you. I wanted to kill the Lieutenant. Never you, my sweet angel. I don’t know how my pistol went off. It was an accident. ” Scully shivered as he called her that. “You and the babe, I would have taken back without a moment’s hesitation. It is not your fault you had such grandiose ideas. Hysteria was and still is a common ailment many women suffer. You still do.” He guffawed, sounding strange. “And you a doctor now! Graduated the University of Maryland and became a doctor at John Hopkins! My Dana! But you’re head’s still in the clouds. I can still make a proper wife out of you, Dana.”

Scully’s mind was racing. There were so many things that her mind was racing and connecting that her logic could not keep up. How did he know she was a doctor? He would’ve known she had performed the autopsies. That would have come up at the trial. But how did he know personal information where she received her degrees from? That didn’t make sense. But something else stuck out like a heavy blow to her gut.

“What do you mean that you would welcome me and my child with open arms?” she hissed. She withdrew suddenly from the door in disgust, feeling her body was suddenly being invaded again just like when she had been abducted. Emily flashed before her eyes, the daughter she never knew. Mulder. Mulder smiling at her in bed just less than a few nights ago after their first coupling in this life. “You killed Mulder, me, and my child!”

“It was an accident,” he cried in a hoarse whisper. “I...I...I didn’t mean for my sidearm to go off. You have to believe me. All I wanted was a family with you.”

“Your nine children weren’t enough?” she spat.

“I just wanted a family with you too. For seven years, I thought there was something wrong with you. I thought that was why you couldn’t have children and then I find you pregnant with the Lieutenant’s child.”

“Do you ever consider you could have been impenitent?” She closed her eyes, her mind flashing between present and past, past and present. Mulder, she thought dizzyingly. “So you kidnap me in this life? How did you even know where to find me?”

“Didn’t you appreciate my art, Dana? I did all that for you. You marvel at the mysteries of the dead now, don’t you? I’m an artist who created for my muse, my beautiful wife! I did it all for you. Could you not tell the symbolism of each body? I knew you were reclaiming your memory over the past week. I knew it the moment you screamed at me in the jail cell. I just spurned it along.”

Scully felt bile rising up in her throat angrily and she bawled her fists.“I am not your wife,” she spat. She kicked the door. “Not in that life and certainly not in this life.”

She watched the heavy door wearily, her body tensing, waiting for him to come through the door and attack. But all she saw was the door shake violently that she felt reverberate through her spine. “Fine! If I have to kill the Lieutenant again, I will. You will be my wife, Dana and we’ll finally have that family which I promised you all those years ago!” he screamed. The voice of a madman.

Scully lowered her gaze to the concrete ground, hearing his heavy footfalls stalk away, and closed her eyes. Her index finger and thumb tightly squeezed the tiny golden cross against her throat as she began to pray. “Pater Noster, qui es in caelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum,” she began softly.

. . . .

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Mulder was tense, feeling like he was crawling out of his skin. A churning storm of emotions was raging in him. The same anger and felt the first time Scully was taken from him. Scully being in danger. His partner is in danger. His soulmate needing him. They had not crossed a century and a half to lose each once again at the hands of some madman. No. No. No. But no one would let near the task force. He was too wild, too much of a risk. ASAC Benson tried to calm Mulder and failed miserably so now they just tolerated his presence as he stalked around the field office like some caged animal ready to strike. No one was doing anything useful anyway.

Ah, fuck. Think, Mulder, think!

His mind raked through memories, years and years of memory from the 19th and 20th centuries, all of which he had lived. He suddenly remembered her blue eyes shining in the lamplight, the blue rosary...the barracks. Porst moth. The navy yard. It was a long shot but the profiler side of his brain knew where it was.

Mulder had left the crime scene quickly, opting to go start to the field office then back to the hotel room. He was dressed in jeans, a black tee shirt, and his leather jacket. All he could do was remember his phone, badge, and gun. He padded his pocket, trying to remember where he stuck his phone he felt something else. He reached into the pocket and felt the rough texture of the yellow envelope that he knew the rings were in. Discreetly he dropped the heavy, worn silver rings into his hand. The cool metal was heavy and comforting in his palm. His memories were wisps caught in the wind as he heard her laughter and their wedding kiss. He placed the larger of the two bands on his ring finger, feeling a small little piece restored to him.

Hold on, Scully, he thought grimly, hold on.

. . . .

A flashback. A memory.

“Being pregnant becomes you, Scully.”

“Are you saying I look good fat, Mulder?”

“I just want to have a lot of babies with my beautiful wife.” He kissed her softly, his lips lingering on her shoulder. “I love you.”

She chuckled. “Three years,” she whispered lovingly, “ and I wouldn’t change a thing. Nothing, Mulder. I love you too.”

. . . .

Mulder knew where Scully was, he was sure of it, but the question was how to convince everyone else. Quietly he pocketed the silver rings, padding the pocket of his jeans to make sure he knew they were still there. The beauty of new memories he mused. Buckley had been playing with them the entire time, he was certain.The bodies and lastly, the location. Discreetly he walked to a large map sitting on the wall to the surrounding area of Hampton Roads. His finger traced from Lambert’s Point in Norfolk and south down the Elizabeth River, his mind’s eye recalling the 19th century map he remembered seeing when he was stationed on the CSS Virginia, finally stopping in between the South Norfolk and Portsmouth, and to the left of his index finger was a small print of Norfolk Naval Shipyard, which, once upon time, was the Gosport Navy Yard. Back to where it would all begin.

Mulder’s mind was already working overtime. A navy yard would be perfect. Warehouses, those empty shipping containers, construction areas, ships being outfitted...it was all the perfect place to hide but how to pursue it? What to do? He had nothing else to go on other than his gut instinct. There had been very little clues to Buckley’s actual whereabouts. But, he had nothing else to go on. Scully did not have time.

“Sir,” Mulder called, “have you considered the shipyards?” ASAC Benson wearily looked up at Mulder standing by the map as his finger incessantly on the map. “In Portsmouth?”

“He’s not there, Mulder,” Benson recalled. “All the evidence we have points to the peninsula. We might check Newport News Shipbuilding but finding Agent Scully is like trying to find a needle in a haystack.” Mulder grew visibly angry and he held up his hand. “Want don’t go back to your hotel and try and get some sleep, Mulder. There is nothing you can do.”

Mulder’s shoulders crumpled in frustration and he grew silent. Diana noticed Mulder and came to his side in a weak attempt at comfort. “I’ll walk you to your car, Fox,” she said gently, placing her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll drive you back.”

He jerked his shoulder away as if her touch had burned him. “Get away from me,” he seethed. “I’ll take care of this myself.”

“Fox,” Diana called weakly.

“Agent Fowley, let him go,” Benson said. He sighed, watching the angry profiler stalk off. “Let him go. I need your attention elsewhere. Have you ever had something to your partner? It’s the most devasting thing in the world. Let the man go.”

Diana’s bird like face scrunched in frustration. If only he cared about her like that, like he used to. She had hoped that her plan would bring them back together like it was meant to be, and Agent Scully would only be shaken up, but her plan was crumbling before her eyes.

“Agent Fowley,” Benson barked. “Attention here! I need you to start coordinating with the local PD.”

Diana sighed curtly and cast her attention back to her work detail.

. . . .

Unknown Location

December 22, 1998

Scully had no clue what time it was but it probably been hours. During this time, she had inspected every inch of her concrete cell and could not find a single weakness. But during her captivity, Buckley left her alone physically but she kept hearing him on the other side of the heavy door. So far, he seemed on keeping her safe and trying to draw Mulder out.

“How did you find me, Franklin?” she asked, eyeing the corner of the cot.

“I’d help, Dana. Someone who’d you least suspect.”

“Help?”

“I don’t know her name but she came shortly after you and the Lieutenant arrested me.”

. . . .

Here I am, spilling my life story to my wife. Again. Honestly. Whatever keeps her happy for the time being. If only she would shut up.

. . . .

“You said she, Franklin.” Scully’s mind was racing. No. Who else could it have been? She heard him moan something in a low voice. “Did someone help you escape?”

“Stop it, Dana. I only ever had eyes for you.”

“I know that.” She knew when she was onto something; Scully would have picked up something about profiling after hanging around Mulder for so long. “Just tell me, Franklin,” she encouraged. “I’m not upset with you.”

“I know what you are trying to do. It won’t work.”

“Franklin,” she begged, trying to sound convincing.

“This life we are meant to be,” he began. “There was a woman who came to visit me, right after my trail. She said she could help me, knew the Lieutenant and you, Dana.” He chuckled. “Our personal little matchmaker.”

“A woman?”

“I don’t know who she was except a first name. Diana. The goddess of the moon helped us find our way through the darkness.” Diana. Could it be the same one? Special Agent Diana Fowley of the FBI? Could it? How? In her heart, she knew it was true but that did not explain how. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, Dana. We have a life together. We can have a family. I’m younger this time around.” He chuckled. “A bit more handsome. I had some help on that one back in the 1920s. Made a deal with the devil. But you, my dear, must have been blessed by an angel because you’re just as beautiful as the first day I saw you when I asked your father for your hand.”

She felt herself grimace and shudder in memory. God, how old he had been.

“I remember,” she muttered grimly.

The door opened slightly and a tray of scrambled eggs and red solo cup with red wine. “It isn’t the Ritz but so we’ll have the Riviera. I love you, my darling wife.”

Scully can't bring herself to answer as her hand went to her cross and she silently began to recite the Lord’s prayer wordlessly in Latin to herself, praying Mulder would come and soon.  
. . . .

Unknown Location  
December 22, 1998

Scully had no clue what time it was but it probably been hours. During this time, she had inspected every inch of her concrete cell and could not find a single weakness. But during her captivity, Buckley left her alone physically but she kept hearing him on the other side of the heavy door. So far, he seemed on keeping her safe and trying to draw Mulder out.

“How did you find me, Franklin?” she asked, eyeing the corner of the cot.

“I’d help, Dana. Someone who’d you least suspect.”

“Help?”

“I don’t know her name but she came shortly after you and the Lieutenant arrested me.”

. . . .

Here I am, spilling my life story to my wife. Again. Honestly. Whatever keeps her happy for the time being. If only she would shut up.

. . . . 

“You said she, Franklin.” Scully’s mind was racing. No. Who else could it have been? She heard him moan something in a low voice. “Did someone help you escape?”

“Stop it, Dana. I only ever had eyes for you.”

“I know that.” She knew when she was onto something; Scully would have picked up something about profiling after hanging around Mulder for so long. “Just tell me, Franklin,” she encouraged. “I’m not upset with you.”

“I know what you are trying to do. It won’t work.”

“Franklin,” she begged, trying to sound convincing.

“This life we are meant to be,” he began. “There was a woman who came to visit me, right after my trail. She said she could help me, knew the Lieutenant and you, Dana.” He chuckled. “Our personal little matchmaker.”

“A woman?”

“I don’t know who she was except a first name. Diana. The goddess of the moon helped us find our way through the darkness.” Diana. Could it be the same one? Special Agent Diana Fowley of the FBI? Could it? How? In her heart, she knew it was true but that did not explain how. “But that doesn’t matter anymore, Dana. We have a life together. We can have a family. I’m younger this time around.” He chuckled. “A bit more handsome. I had some help on that one back in the 1920s. Made a deal with the devil. But you, my dear, must have been blessed by an angel because you’re just as beautiful as the first day I saw you when I asked your father for your hand.”

She felt herself grimace and shudder in memory. God, how old he had been.

“I remember,” she muttered grimly. 

The door opened slightly and a tray of scrambled eggs and red solo cup with red wine. “It isn’t the Ritz but so we’ll have the Riviera. I love you, my darling wife.”

Scully can't bring herself to answer as her hand went to her cross and she silently began to recite the Lord’s prayer wordlessly in Latin to herself, praying Mulder would come and soon.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the end now. Thanks to everyone who read it! I really appreciate it!

FBI Field Office  
Norfolk, VA  
December 22, 1998

It wasn’t supposed to be happening like this she thought miserably. Drawing out a small discreet beeper, she double checked it to see if he had paged her. Diana gnawed the inside of her cheek and drew out her cell phone in a last attempt to call Buckley but to find the line dead. She took a deep breath knew her plan had gone marvelously down in flames.

It was supposed to be simple. Upon coming back from Europe and seeing Mulder again, she had been overcome with a dream of the two them married and her giving birth and then rushed forth back to the present moment of her and Mulder in the hallway, holding hands, discussing Gibson Praise. It was like a sign from a higher power that this was Diana’s moment to correct the tragic mistake she had made years ago by walking away from Mulder. When she had been approached by The Smoking Man, she had seen it as a chance to redeem herself and carry on the legacy that she found with Mulder. But The Smoking Man had given her another task: separate Mulder and Scully and carry on the Consortium’s agenda. She had mistaken the memory for a dream and it fueled her hopes to get rid of Agent Scully and reclaim her place by Fox’s side.

It was not that she despised Agent Scully as a person. It just wanted she represented in Fox’s life. Diana drummed her fingers across the table in thought. Fox could not see it but Agent Scully was leading him astray and destroying the x-files and him. The year before, Mulder and Scully had captured the serial killer known as Francis Buckley and Diana saw something in the way Buckley stared at Dana Scully on the television from the arrest and courtroom footage. All it took was and idea from The Smoker, her planting a letter and then Buckley was hers. She fed him information, manipulated his fragile mind, created the means for him to escape. Agent Fowley had read about Scully’s abduction and how it had nearly destroyed Fox. But Buckley could have done it again, and no one would have gotten hurt. But her plan was spiraling out of control. Fox was missing as was Agent Scully. She did not need any more bodies on her conscience, the seven were enough. She could still fix this and achieve her ultimate goal of separating Fox and Agent Scully.

“Agent Benson,” she called. “I have a lead from an anonymous source.”

. . . .

Portsmouth, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Mulder sat quietly in his parked car in the navy yard, chewing on sunflower seeds, hoping something would jump to his mind, anything--a memory, a hunch, an inkling--anything to tell him where Scully was. He was desperate. His mind was still racing. As he had driven over the Berkley bridge and took the exit off the interstate towards the navy yard, the endless parking lots, cars, and buildings, and ships made his uncertainty even worse. The port had looked small and manageable on the map in the field office but now. He gulped and slouched in the driver’s seat. There were so many possibilities of what could go wrong. He tried not to imagine the worst case. It only fueled his anxieties and fears. He closed his eyes, trying to glean something else useful from the past.

. . . .

Unknown Location  
March 18, 1865

At some point during the night, Scully had drifted off to sleep from pure exhaustion. He held his pregnant wife tightly against him, trying to protect and keep her warm. Mulder worried about Scully and their baby. He closed his eyes and for once, realized the hopelessness of the situation. It scared him. It saddened him. He did not know what to do. After all this: surviving war, escaping an invading army, and trying to start a life, how could it end? Not like this. Not like this. He thought he had died back in 1855 when Diana had passed and his first child along with her. And he died inside along with his already dead marriage. He continued to serve with the U.S. Army during that time, trying to get as far away from his mother and his past as he could. He requested the frontier, Kansas City, or some other remote outpost but he found himself at Fort Sumter on an April night in 1861. He found himself rushed up into a new navy, away from all he had known, and on a boat to Norfolk.

“Mulder,” she murmured quietly in her sleep.

In response, he hugged her close as she rubbed the side of his chest with her cold hands. She was trying to keep “Stop, Scully,” he muttered softly, “try to stay warm. I’m okay.” 

“Have you gotten any sleep?”

She groaned slightly and shook her head into his chest. “No,” she whispered. “The baby is keeping me up.”

Scully pressed his warm hand to her pregnant belly and he smiled slightly. “She’s doing flips.”

“Hmph,” she smiled. “She wants you to tell us a story.”

“A story? What about the sailor and spy?”

“I don’t believe I know that story. What would you tell our child about how we met?”

“Across the room, in the firelight, a dashing officer saw a woman with the most beautiful eyes,” she started, “and the young woman was taken back by the handsome officer.”

. . . .

Portsmouth, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Mulder blinked as he came forward from the past, noticing his heart racing in his chest, and felt a stray tear out of the corner of his eye. Now was not the time. The more he ventured into the memories of the past, the worse he became and the more he loved her, if that was possible. After this, after he got her back, he will tell her about the embryos. Maybe in this life, they could have happiness, he could give her the ending she deserved. Strengthening his grip on his service weapon, he followed his hunch down into a darkened alley.

“Not like this,” he murmured in affirmation.

Mulder switched off the engine of the car and took a moment survey his surroundings. To be perfectly honest, this entire shipyard looked the same. He had driven around for about a half hour, discreetly trying to check things out, looking for clues, anything that would hint at Scully’s location. His FBI badge got him in but after that, he was on his own. He groaned and closed his eyes, hoping for something. If he and Scully were really soulmates bound together through endless centuries, why wasn’t the universe giving him a sign? Frustrated and pissed, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel and tried to slow his breathing. Without Scully to anchor him down, his emotions were in turmoil. Throwing caution to the wind, he got out of the car, drew his service weapon, and followed his gut instinct down an alley a hundred yards and opened the door to a random warehouse.

. . . .

Scully sat on the cot with her back against the cold wall. She drew a deep breath and let her eyes drift over the makeshift cell she was being held in. Buckley had not bothered her in the past few hours. She had scoured every inch of her concrete box, unable to find anything. She did not know what the future held anymore, she was content to let her mind stay in the past. Then she heard footsteps, two sets, scuffling, Mulder’s voice, Buckley’s laughter. She pushed herself up from the ground in preparation in case something were to happen. The door was yanked back violently and Mulder was thrown in a heap by a larger man with Buckley standing behind the thug. Scully rushed forward, instantly helping Mulder off the ground and he groaned groggily.

“That is, sir?” the large man asked.

“Yes, that will be all.” Buckley dismissed. He held out a pistol aimed at the FBI agents and smiled at them. “Hired help is so hard to find these days. Oh, isn’t this ironic, Lieutenant? You, me, Dana, just like old times. I’ll be back for you later.”

He shut the door as he left and Scully instantly turned to face Mulder. “What are you doing here,” she hissed angrily, her hands caressing his face and raking through his hair, betraying her worry. She pushed his head towards the light, noticing a bruise on the side of his temple. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No,” he soothed. He bent forward and kissed her tenderly. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“You fell into his trap.”

“I know,” he murmured. “I know. Don’t rub it in but I’ll be okay. Did he touch you?”

“I’m okay, Mulder.” She stood on her tiptoes and snaked her arms around his neck and he hugged her tightly. “Tell me you have a plan and that the rest of the task force is coming?”

She guided him to the cot and gently tended to him. He smiled softly. “I’m okay, Scully. I managed to place an open call to 911 and tossed my phone. Hopefully, they’ll be able to trace the call. I, uh, was told to take off.”

“You didn’t have me there to keep you grounded. Honestly, I can’t leave you alone to play nicely with others.” She sighed, completing her inspection. Quietly, she sat next to him on the cot. “We both know what he trying to do.”

Mulder looked beside him and took Scully’s hand within his. “But this time is different,” he whispered.

“I remember dying, Mulder. I remember the pain I felt from him blowing out my brains,” she whispered softly, “we both know how it ended.”

“I know.” Mulder leaned into her personal space, caressing her cheek. “But this time is different, we know what to expect. We can keep history from repeating itself.” He kissed her. “I won’t let it happen. The FBI will come and we’ll have the situation under control by then.”

She shook her head. “Someone’s been feeding him information and I think it is, Agent Fowley. He mentions Diana’s name,” she murmured. Scully watched him grow quiet and waiting for his reaction. He reflected on what had occurred right before he left.the field office. He knew she was likely right but that was the least of his concerns. “What if she stops Benson from coming?”

“We’ll be okay, Scully,” he murmured.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest. Scully closed her eyes as the memories took her away to another time. “You never finished the story,” she whispered into his chest.

Mulder sighed and tried to make them as comfortable as they could on the cot. “Well, when he awoke he found the world changed and then a doctor walked into the basement and declared herself his new partner.”

. . . . 

Unknown Location  
March 20, 1865

Mulder was awoken by someone kicking the wall roughly against the wall him and Scully had been sleeping against. She jumped against him, her hands instinctively covering their unborn child. Mulder pressed a soundless kiss to her temple as he felt her warm tears streaming down her cheeks. “Mulder,” she whispered.

“What is it, Scully?”

“This is it,” she whispered to him. “This is the end.”

“No, no, no, no.” He hissed. He shut his eyes feeling an insurmountable wave of pain rise up within his chest and threaten to take them both. “Scully, don’t talk like that. Don’t ever talk like that.”

“It’s true though, Mulder,” she whispered.

She cupped his face in her hands. “Don’t you see? This has happened before and will happen again. We are soulmates and right before we’re happy, we’re always torn apart. I’ve had dreams, Mulder.”

“Dreams are nothing more than dreams,” he whispered heatedly. “This is our reality. We have a future, Scully.”

“We do, Mulder,” she replied, seemingly otherworldly for a brief moment. “Just not now.” She bent her head forehead and rested it against his. “I dreamed of you and that’s why I came to your barracks that night. I knew I loved you before I even loved you.”

“Sssshhh,” he tried to soothe his wife, “please stop talking like that, Scully. Please. Not after all this. We don’t end like this.”

“But it does,” she murmured in between kisses. “I feel it in my heart. It always ends this way for us. We can’t have a happy ending.”

“We can!” he hissed. “Not like this, Scully. Not after all this.”

His voice shattered and he felt his own sobs coming, boiling down deep in the chest. “Mulder,” she soothed, cupping his face. “It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

“How can you say that?” he coughed.

Outside, the kicking of the wooden walls that contained them continued on the outside of their prison. He could smell the tobacco from the old man earlier, the Captain shouting something he could not decipher, and Scully, her whispering soothing things into his ear. “I know, Mulder, I just know.”

He shook her head, refusing to believe it, not after all this. She kissed his tears away gently and pulled him tightly against her. Scully’s words came from a part of her she did not know that existed within her.

. . . .

Portsmouth, VA  
December 22, 1998

Scully dozed fitfully against Mulder as they spooned uncomfortably on the small cot. She sighed uncomfortably before wiggling closer unconsciously. He wondered what she was dreaming about. Was she dreaming about then? Having to experience death over and over again? Why would the fates be so cruel? “Hm,” she murmured in her sleep. “I can hear you thinking.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” In the fog of memory and real life, she stroked his chest sensually and kissed him as she came out of her sleep. “Hm. It was not a dream or a nightmare.” She sighed, keeping her eyes closed. “Mulder, I want you to promise me something.”

“Whatever you want, Scully.”

She sighed, drawing in a deep breath. His scent mingled with the moldiness of their prison and she wondered if was possible to smell the same after two hundred years; the same musk that encapsulated all that was Mulder. She drew strength from it now just like she had then, except this time would be different. “Mulder, promise me this won’t be the end for us. Not in this life, not after we have all been through.”

“Scully…”

“Mulder, let me finish.” She drew a deep breath. “We have a chance this time. We know what to expect, we know things we didn’t last time.” She kissed his lips. “We can do this. We can survive this time.”

“What do you propose?”

“We get him alone and we can overpower him.”

“That’s it?”

“Think about it, Mulder. The man is unstable enough as it is. I can distract him…” She shrugged. “I’m just kind of thinking of this as we go along. We’re not dying again.”

“I would rather not risk your life again,” he said. “If the task force is coming, it probably won’t be long as well.”

“That’s a gamble too,” she whispered. She took a deep breath. “We don’t have many options.”

. . . .

Unknown Location  
March 20, 1865

Mulder kept his bound hands on Scully’s arms in a vain to keep his wife from tripping. Behind them Captain Buchanan walked heavily with a cane, his free hand resting on his service pistol. In front of them, a man with dark black hair and the face of a rat walked in front of them with a shotgun, which Mulder could only assume was Alex Krycek. The aged captain barked, “Stop! Here, Alex.”

Scully stopped and glanced over her shoulder to Mulder, doing her best to soothe him wordlessly. Alex moved to intervene between the married couple. Mulder grew angry, shoving the hired gun furiously. “Mulder!” Scully called out.

He stopped instantly, the pain in her voice only added to the ropes bonding her hand. He bowed his head as Krycek took the rifle butt of his carbine and hit angrily on the back of Mulder’s legs, forcing him on his knees. Scully closed her eyes as Captain Buckley forced his ex-wife to her knees. Mulder fought angrily against the other man. “Scully!”

“Careful, Lieutenant,” the Captain warned, drawing his sidearm. Scully kept her eyes open, locking her gaze on her husband. Mulder’s hazel eyes were a storm of panic. They both heard the hammer of the pistol being cocked. “One false move.”

“It’s okay, Mulder,” she whispered to him. “It’s okay.”

“Dana, just like you to comfort your lover.”

“My husband,” she hissed. “He’s my husband. Not my lover.”

The captain backhanded Scully with the pistol butt with Mulder howling in rage as he tried to break free of his restraints. Captain Buchan cocked his weapon and held it, aiming at Scully. “Careful, Lieutenant Mulder, one false move, she dies.”

He stilled himself helplessly as Scully pushed herself back up. The captain pressed the cold steel of the gun against the base of her skull. Mulder’s eyes widened in alarm. “It’s okay, Scully. It’s okay.” 

“Quiet,” Krycek hissed.

Mulder kept staring at his wife, trying to will her soul into his body to keep her safe.  
“Just keep looking at me, okay? Just look at me.” He was crying. Oh, God, don’t take her. Not after all this. “Scully?”

“It’s okay, Mulder,” she murmured. She gave a weak smile. “We’ll be okay.”

“For godsakes, Lieutenant, I knew you were such a pansy.” Captain Buchanan moaned.

“Scully, I love you. I will always love you, now and forever.”

“I love you too, Mulder,” she whispered sadly. She held his gaze and Mulder watched his soul fall into eternity as Scully gave one last smile. “Thank--”

Suddenly, there was a distant gunshot in the distance. Far off. Away. Crows and buzzards flew from the low hanging branches and the resounding sound of a pistol shot went off. A different sound, closer, deadlier. Mulder’s eyes widened as red flooded Scully’s back neck and she slumped forward lifeless. “No,” Mulder whispered, his eyes widening in horor. “NO!”

There was confusion. Someone was speaking in Russian. The Captain was yelling. It happened in a blink of an eye. How did it happen so fast? Not like this. Not like this. It was not supposed to be like this. Suddenly, there was one more resounding gunshot and Mulder felt pain in his chest as he slumped over, the warm blood seep through this clothes. It should hurt but it didn’t. He should be scared but he felt nothing but sadness His last conscious thoughts were of her as Scully’s lifeless blue eyes stared back as he faded into darkness.

. . . .

Portsmouth, Virginia  
December 22, 1998

Mulder and Scully were both unaware they had embraced each other and it was Scully to break away first. She was clutching Mulder as if he was going to be torn away from her. His own eyes were closed tightly, a stray tear trailing down her cheek. With tears in her own eyes, she rubbed the sides of his chest urgently, kissing him over and over again. 

“Mulder,” she whispered, “Mulder. It’s just a memory! It’s already done. It’s in the past.”

Mulder’s eyes flew open as he searched Scully’s face. “A memory,” he repeated, not believing. He touched her face as if expecting her to disappear. “Just a memory?”

“Yes,” she confirmed, cupping his cheek. “It is just a memory. Come back to me, Mulder, just like you always have.”

He closed his eyes again, leaning into her touch. His breathing slowed and as he focused on her. “How did you know then, Scully? How did you know?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head, unable to find the words or gave him an answer. Instead, she hugged him tighter. “Does it matter now, Mulder?” Scully whispered. “Does what happened over a hundred years ago matter now? We came back and we still have a life to live.”

“Our child,” he muttered. She could feel the angry turmoil in him. “Scully, he killed our child.”

“I know, Mulder. I know. He killed us too,” she whispered. “The child we should have had but we are alive. We are alive and we still have to fight. We have to fight. I just claimed what is mine in this life and I have no intention of little you go.” She forced him to look at her. “And in this life, we have suffered so much more and I may not be able to give you a child, but we can be happy, Mulder. We can be happy.”

He bowed his head, resting their foreheads together. “That is not exactly true,” he murmured.

“What? We can’t be happy?”

“We can,” he murmured. “But...I meant to tell you sooner. It’s just after your cancer went into remission and then Antarctica, with everything happening at once, and I don’t remember when exactly but I found a facility while I was searching for a cure...I found…”  
Suddenly, they heard the door kicked open. Both of them snapped, sitting up on the cot and glaring angrily at their guard standing ominously in the doorway. Mulder stood uneasily as Scully grasped his hand. The guard smiled stupidly. “Best not try anything.”

“What do you want,” Mulder asked.

“Nothing, Lieutenant,” Buckley called from behind the guard. He pushed passed the hired help and stood in front to the door. “We’re going to finish this once and for all.”  
Scully glanced at Mulder and met his sad eyes. Unspoken communication flew between them as Mulder nodded slightly. “How,” Scully challenged boldly, eyeing Buckley defiantly. Mulder moved slowly off to the side. “What makes you think you can have me in this life? Franklin, I have only one man I have ever loved and you are not him. You sick, sick man. Don’t you get it? I could live countless lifetimes and my heart will only belong to Mulder.”

Scully watched Buckley’s face grow red and she braced herself for the next few seconds. Mulder rushed the guard, using his body weight to slam the guard against the steel door frame, catching him off guard. He managed to wrestle the rifle away, using his bodyweight to slam the guard against the wall. Scully took the moment to try and wrestle the gun from Buckley. Mulder watched in horror as Buckley used his heavier weight and size to slam Scully to the ground and aim a pistol he took out behind his back at her head. Scully hissed angrily, struggling beneath his burly weight. “Be still now, Dana,” Buckley cooed. “I may have been unable to live with your death then but I have no qualms about killing you now. The beauty of multiple lives, honey.”

“Get off me, you bastard!” Scully snapped.

Mulder’s grip tightened around the rifle, anger growing in his chest. His eyes locked on Scully’s and it was like time stood still for them. The past week, memories had edged their way to the surface, confused them, made the question, and acknowledge what they had all along, lifetimes of it. She nodded slightly and gave a weak smile. “Not this time,” Mulder hissed. “You won’t win this time.”

Buckley laughed. “You think luck is on your side, Lieutenant? After 130 years, you still think you can take what’s mine?’

Beneath Buckley, unbeknownst to him, Scully had shifted slightly and managed to pin her knee against his stomach. Using all her strength, she kneed Buckley and used her other foot to kick him square in the chest to push away. Mulder took the second and fired two shots into Buckley; one in the upper chest and another one in his gun arm. He rushed forward, kicking Buckley forcefully back as Scully kicked away the handgun. “You bastard,” Buckley coughed.

She pushed herself up from the ground, in a shock as she took in the sight of Buckley on the ground, heaving breaths painfully. For a moment, it felt like she was in 1865 and her ex-husband was dying but she blinked and it was 1998. Scully looked towards Mulder and he held out his arm as she came forward and buried her face in his chest. The moment dragged on as she collapsed against him and Mulder heaved a sob he had been holding. He kissed her hair, whispering incoherently as Scully closed her eyes, pressed her ear to his chest, listening to his heartbeat. They were alive. Elsewhere in the complex, they heard a flashbang grenade going off, random shots of gunfire, multiple voices drowning together screaming, ‘FBI! Federal agents!’ 

Scully chuckled into his chest and looked up, tears in her eyes. “We did it, Mulder. We did it.”  
Mulder cast a lingering glance on Buckley who was trying to breathe, his own hands inspecting his grey chest wounds in disbelief, staring up at the ceiling on his back. “Not like this,” the injured man kept whispering. “It doesn’t end like this.”  
He possessed no immediate threat and Mulder looked down at Scully and laughed. “We did, didn’t we? He felt lighter, lighter than he had ever before as if a century’s worth of guilt had been lifted from his shoulders and he no longer carried the albatross. He looked down at partner and kissed her lightly. “What’s next?”

She smiled, cupping his face, answering, “Who knows.”

At this point, they could hear the rest of the task force, the SWAT team members were standing in the doorway, looking in disbelief at Mulder and Scully relatively unharmed. Scully cleared her throat, her demeanor instantly changing. “We need EMTs now,” she ordered, breaking away from Mulder. “If we want this bastard to live and get justice, we have to act fast.”

“Agent Scully, your wounds,” one of the masked SWAT members started. 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” Scully snapped. She caught Mulder’s eye who had this goofy, dreamy grin on his face and her 19th-century self-remembered seeing him this happy a handful of times, including their wedding and when she told him he was going to be a father. She smiled and nodded her head slightly. “And where is Agent Benson?”

Mulder took the moment as Scully became the center attention of the room, he set the rifle down and stood over Buckley. “You bastard,” he coughed. “She’s mine. She belongs to me.”

Mulder tilted his head as Buckley gritted his teeth in pain. Kneeling down, he laughed and lowered his voice. “You’re wrong, Captain. She never belonged to anyone. I was just the fortunate one she decided to love, no matter what life.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Am I, Captain Buchanan? This life or that life...whatever the life, we’ll always find each other.”

Mulder was interrupted with Diana’s shrill cry of, “Fox!”

He turned his head to see the tall brunette wading through the SWAT members. EMT now appeared and was trying to attend to Buckley. Agent Benson was also there but talking to Scully. Mulder stood back up and narrowed his eyes. “Fox, are you alright?”

“You bitch,” Buckley hissed. “You said this would work.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she scoffed, dismissing Buckley. She took Mulder’s arm in concern. “Are you okay, Fox?”

“Get off me,” Mulder hissed in a low voice.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t think I don’t know what you did,” Mulder hissed ominously. He glared at Buckley whose he’s were fluttering closed. “Feeding him information? Were you covering his tracks as well?”

“I don’t…” Diana answered in shock.

“Mulder!” Benson interrupted. Diana took the moment to step back in shock as Mulder turned is back to greet the ASAC and look for Scully. “Your work, Agent?” He nodded to Buckley. Mulder nodded gravely. “Yes, sir, but I couldn’t have done it without Agent Scully.”

“Well, she seems none the worse for wear,” Benson said, watching Scully give orders. “She’s made of some tough stuff.”

“Yes, sir,” he mumbled, feeling his heart swell. “That she is.”

Benson looked over Mulder’s bruised face and ordered, “Both of you get checked out and give your statements and then get some rest.”

“Yes, sir.”

Benson nodded, satisfied and left to oversee the rest of the operation. Diana had suddenly vanished and Mulder could care less. He caught Scully’s eye and she excused herself from the men she was talking today and drifted towards Mulder. She was smiling and crying. He opened his arm again and, not caring about all the other FBI agents around her, wrapped his arms around his chest, and hugged him. He wrapped his other arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “We did it.”

“We did,” she murmured. “I feel different, Mulder. Can you sense it too? Hopeful. At peace.”

He just smiled and kissed her lightly. “I love you, Scully.”

“Even if it takes us a few more centuries.” She just smiled and pressed her ear against his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat. “I love you too, Mulder.”

. . . .

Yorktown, Virginia  
January 16, 1999

The drive back down to Yorktown had been subdued and quiet. They really did not speak to each other but let the comfortable silence embrace them in their own bubble. Scully’s hand held Mulder’s free one as he slowed off Route 17 and pulled onto the small road that led to the historic part of Yorktown along the Riverfront. She gave Mulder a warm smile. “I’m glad we decided to take a three day weekend,” she said.

“You deserve it,” he replied softly, squeezing her hand.

“We deserve this,” she said, watching the calm river as he navigated the small road that wrapped around an old church and down along the river and towards to their awaiting motel.

. . . . 

After the drama with Buckley and those two demented Christmas ghosts were behind them, Mulder and Scully spent New Year’s at his apartment, tangled together after a very passionate session of lovemaking, watching the New Year’s Ball drop as the Aztec blanketed around them loosely. She smiled lazily at him as he kissed her. Scully’s mind had drifted to the New Year’s they experienced in the 19th century, but this was the first one in this life, in the 20th century. His hand cupped his cheek, staring at her lovingly. “This is a dream.”

“If it is, don’t wake me up.”

She sighed contently and lay her head on his bare chest. Mulder ensured their blanket and tucked it around them. They watched as the ball dropped in silence, kissing at the stroke of midnight, before snuggling back against him. “Are you ready to go to bed, Scully?” he whispered.

“Not yet.” She turned her head and thought and gazed at him. “We still have a few weeks with our mandatory leave, don’t we?”

“Uh huh,” he said. “What are you thinking, Scully?”

“I wanna go back to Yorktown,” she mumbled thoughtfully. She kissed his sternum. “Maybe Norfolk. Put some ghosts to rest so we can move forward.”

“What is the future?”

“A happy ending for us,” she murmured, “the future we both deserve. After everything.”

“A happy ending,” he echoed softly.

She smiled lazily and he lazily played with her red locks. He had that dreamy look in his eye, one that she knew what it meant now She saw it first early in their partnership after she had been returned from her abduction and she saw again and again over the years, especially during her cancer. It was the look of a man who was deeply in love with her. “What,” she smiled.

“What do you think about us doing a little weekend getaway, Scully?”

“To where?”

He shrugged before drawing a deep breath. “I know it’s only been a week since all that has happened.”

“More like two or three.”

“And you remember I told that after your cancer, well, after Em--in San Diego…”

“I know,” she whispered, silencing him with a kiss. “I still need time on it, Mulder.” He nodded slowly. “I know you want to do right with me and with all that we have learned...I just need to think about it, Mulder. You knew what Emily meant to me and now with us remember our lives together, once upon a time, when we were happy and we were going to have a family. I remember, Mulder.”

He nodded solemnly. He reached up to cup her cheek. “I know. I won’t push it again but I really want to take some time to get away from all this.”

“Where would you want to go. We still have some time before we have to go back to the bullpen.”

“What about back to where it all started?”

. . . .

Scully had something she wanted to ask him but they need to set some things straight first. Mulder slowed the car near a gravel parking lot near their hotel. As he cut off the engine, Scully looked at him. “Deja vu,” she murmured.

“Deja vu,” he echoed.

She wordlessly squeezed his hand and got out of the car and he followed. He opened the trunk and pulled out their bags. She turned her back to overlook the York river and felt her heart clench in sadness. Mulder came up behind her and dropped the bag, simply wrapping an arm around her waist and pulled her against him. “We’re alive, Scully, that’s all the matters.”

She took a deep breath and nodded. She forced a smile and nodded to the hotel. “This is really quaint, Mulder.”

“You like it?”

“It’s one step up from the seedier motels we’ve stayed in.”

“Well, at least it’s got a view,” he smiled. “Come on, let’s check in. Does the restaurant over there look familiar?” She laughed when she recognized the small little shack that her and Mulder had eaten frog legs at on the way back to D.C. before everything kind of exploded. “They have oysters.”

“What makes you think I want oysters, Mulder?”

“I read it’s an aphrodisiac,” he laughed, waggling his eyebrows.

“That’s something we don’t need help with,” she smiled warmly in remembrance of the past weeks and how they were either at her apartment or his. “Besides, I want to take a nap before dinner. It's been a long drive. Your queen demands it.”

Mulder’s eye grew dark with love. “I don't remember telling you that the title carried onto this lifetime as well.”

She laughed. “Well, it does.”

….

The room was small and quaint and the view overlooking the river was to die for. Mulder drew the curtains to the balcony to keep the evening sun from waking Scully up. He eased himself gingerly on the bed next to her and traced her face. He still could not believe, after everything, they still had their chance at a happy ending. The past blended with their present into a happy little bliss for both of them. All the past arguing was forgotten, Diana faded into the background, and it was only them. Maybe they didn't have the files but they had each other and for now, the bullpen would suffice.

Scully breathed deeply, her eyes still closed, and she smiled. “I can feel you thinking.” 

That was another thing, the intimacy between them. The intimacy. It had always been there from the very beginning of their partnership but with the added memories of their marriage in one life and their partnership in this one, it took on a whole new meaning. “Can you?”

She nodded pulling on a chain that he was wearing under his shirt and fingered the small silver band affectionately. “I still don't know why you wear this,” she mumbled, “it belongs in a museum.”

He took her left and examined the large silver ring on her thumb. “I see you're wearing yours.”

“Special occasion. Mom asked about it.”

“What did you tell her?”

“My soulmate.” Scully tried to keep a straight face as she erupted in laughter and Mulder silenced her with a kiss. “And my best friend, partner, and husband in one life or more. My other half.”

He gave her another peck on the lips. “Are you ready for dinner?”

“Hmph. Once you get off me, yeah.” 

“Good, I am starving.”

“Do you think of anything else but food?”

“You,” he murmured. He rested his forehead against hers. “I always think about.”

She smiled softly and whispered. “Get off me so I can get ready.”

Mulder looked at her quietly. “It’s so good to see you smile, Scully.”

“Quit kissing my ass right now, Mulder. You can do it later.

. . . .

Times change. Perspectives change. But love. Love is timeless. Of this Mulder was certain as Scully snorted into her beer as she tried to keep from erupting into hysterical laughter and the beer splashed all over the table. Mulder closed his eyes and felt a memory come over him. They were in Norfolk while the captain was at sea, shortly after their first night in bed together, and they were drinking in the study and he kissed her for the first time. Mulder leaned forward in present time and hesitated. She turned her head as if reading his thoughts. “What are you waiting for? I thought that was on one of the first rules, not while we are on the clock and last time I checked, Mulder, we aren’t on the clock.”

The kiss was quick and she caught him blushing. “Sorry, Scully, I’m not used to this type of…” He smiled quickly. “This isn’t the Scully I’m used to.”

“Well, like I’ve told you before, I’m myself, all at once,” she said softly. “I’m really happy we came here, Mulder but I’m not going to eat all this myself.”

“Are you happy, Scully?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, Mulder?”

He shrugged insecurely. “No reason.”

She watched him out the corner of her eye, noticing something, a lingering sadness. “Mulder,” she called, waving her hand, catching the waitresses attention. “Let’s take a walk. We can take this back to the hotel room first, okay?”

Mulder paid for their dinner and Scully gathered up the leftovers over their dinner as they walked the short distance to their hotel. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and jogged up to their room to put the remainder of their leftovers in the mini fridge. Mulder was quiet as he looked out over the dark river as he let his mind drift. This trip was supposed to be about them moving forward but it was hard for them to do. The past lingered but also seemed to define whatever their partnership was these days. Or were they more?

“Mulder!”

He looked up in surprise and saw Scully jogging towards him. She had a smile on her face. “You ready?”

“Yeah.” 

The two of them crossed the road to the sidewalk and began to walk leisurely down the riverwalk. “So,” Scully began, “we need to talk.”

“I know.”

“The past, our past, Mulder,” she began. Silence fell between them. “What we are…”

“The past doesn’t change anything, right?” he supplied helpfully.

She chuckled softly and took his arm. “Past, present, future, where does it all lead,” she chuckled.

“Hopefully we have a future.”

“We do. We just don’t know where it’ll end up.” She stilled them and nodded to the river and the other peninsula. “Mulder, what do you see?”

“Is there a right and wrong answer?”

She smiled. “No. Well, unless you decide to go back to Fowley over me.” He gave her a horrified look as she chuckled softly. “No. Mulder, with who we are, what we were, I just want to say...hm...how can I make this sound not corny but heartfelt and emotional at the same time?” She gave him a small smile and nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“We talk about a future, and knowing what we know now, it can be seen as a second chance. I don’t want the past to define us. I want this decision to be made mutually. You have already indicated...hell you kept them before all this happened.”

“Get to the point, Scully,” he chuckled. “You’re killing me with waiting.”

“The answer is yes, Mulder.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s have the embryos tested and if they’re viable…” She let her voice drift off. “Well, we’ll figure that out when we come to that bridge.”

He smiled and kissed her once more. “I have no words for my love for you, Scully.”

She turned suggestively and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Why don’t we head back to the hotel and you can show us?”

“That’s why you were always the smartest one.”

Hand and hand, Mulder and Scully walked back along the banks of the York River back to their room and a future of possibility.


End file.
